


rest his soul

by Astasabershadow



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Gen, Horcrux Hunting, Inconsistent in his hatred Tom Riddle, Insane Tom Riddle, Lots of OC's, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, OC's - Freeform, Sane Tom Riddle, The Deathly Hallows, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astasabershadow/pseuds/Astasabershadow
Summary: Dumble-Death chuckles into the back of his hand, eyes twinkling in merriment. "Well, my dear boy. Seeing as you want to save Voldemort because of your rather impressive guilt complex, you've quite a journey ahead of you. It will be long and most definitely hard, and the results might not be what you want them to be."Harry frowns. That doesn't sound like fun. But—"I'll do it.""Very well." The being nods. "Seeing as the only pieces of his soul that are left are those currently residing in his body and the one you hold in your hands, the only way to return him to his original state is if you travel along the branches of time and collect his hocruxes."...........Basically, Harry doesn't meet Dumbledore when Voldemort AK's him at the Forbidden Forest. Instead he meets Death.And then, well, then Fate becomes very pissed off.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald - Relationship
Comments: 286
Kudos: 790





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm being absolutely honest I have no idea where I'm going with this. At all.  
> I'm hoping that it'll begin to take form in my head otherwise I'll abandon it like I sorts did with Perseverance.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first chapter. Let me know what your thoughts are.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

White.

Everywhere.

The sensation of existing and then not is jarring, complex, but can best be described as humbling—it's humbling how life doesn't just fade into nothingness, how just one stolen breath results to this, how if your heart stops beating it's... over. 

  
Over like it is for him now.

  
For one breif but eternal moment, he's incorporeal.

  
And then he comes to realise seconds, maybe minutes or hours later, when his eyes start to see through the blinding whiteness all around him, that Circe, he exists, that he's solid, he can actually feel the stillness around his body.

  
A beat or two later—

  
"Professor?" He says, surprised that he even has a voice.

  
He can't help it. He's new to being—you know, dead.

  
Dumbledore stares back at him from a distance away, looking...well 'dour', he supposes, in dark robes, his ridiculous hat sat on his head and his trademark moon eyed glasses perched on his nose. He looks like the last day Harry saw him, on that tower before Snape killed him. Except for the robes. The robes are new. Very un-Dumbledore-like.

  
There's also something different about him. Something Harry can't quite name. 

  
Silence.

  
And just when it starts to get awkward—

"Harry." The old man acknowledges.

  
"Am I dead, Professor?" Harry asks, not really afraid of what the answer is. 

"Your heart stopped beating approximately 2 minutes ago, yes. But you are not quite dead."

The 'yet' is left unsaid.

  
"I don't understand." Harry says. Because he really doesn't.

  
"Walk with me, my boy." 

Dumbledore turns around and starts walking, and Harry, honestly having nothing better to do, quickly falls into step right beside him.

They walk for a while, Harry gathering his thoughts and Dumbledore waiting patiently for him to do so, and then, very suddenly, or very gradually does the whiteness around them starts to gain form. It looks like—

"Kings Cross Station." He says out loud.

"This is where your life changed, where your adventure truly began." Dumbledore says, giving him a sideways glance.

  
Then suddenly, there's a wail, a heart wrenching sort of wail that has Harry frantically searching for its source. Because it's sounds like a child is in—

  
"Oh." He can only say. Surprised at the gruesome little thing underneath one of the benches infront of them. It takes but a moment for him to make the connection—the snake like noseless face, the gaunt almost skeletal baby like frame and the waxy-like disgusting skin... "Is that—is that Voldemort, sir?"

  
"It is the piece of him that was in you."

  
Circe, that thing looks disgusting.   
There's another wail of suffering, one that makes Harry think of all the times he'd cried for someone, anyone to take him away from the Dursely's— "Can we help it-him?"

Dumbledore gives him a long searching look, one that quickly has Harry feeling undressed. He double checks just incase to make sure he isn't. "Perhaps" he says, slowly, as if he's pondering on it. ",but it is not worth the effort."

  
Harry frowns, disappointed and maybe a little angry that Dumbledore is doing something like this again. Leaving someone to suffer even if there's something he can do about it.

"Why not?"

  
"He is beyond your help, Harry."

  
"Is he though?" Harry asks, walking towards the golum-man-baby Voldemort thing under the bench. Maybe if he could comfort it-him, he would stop crying like that.

  
"Harry, if you touch him, then there is no going back. Saving Voldemort's soul will lead you on another path. You will never see your friends again."

  
"Will I officially die then?" He asks, an inch away from touching it-him.

  
"It's very possible for you to return to this point, yes. But dying, not so much my boy." 

There's a sigh, a fond one by the sounds of it, then Dumbledore conjures a blanket wandlessly, passing it onto Harry. "He looks like he might need this."

  
Harry transfers the gollum soul piece baby onto the blanket, after carefully restraining it when it tries to crawl or slither away from him. It—he continues to squirm in Harry's hold but eventually settles down and those wails are reduced to whimpers.

  
"What happens now?" Harry asks.

  
"We ride the train my boy." The old man says, cheerful.

The moment Harry finds a comfortable spot, the train starts to move. He adjusts the whimpering soul piece and gives Dumbledore his undivided attention.

  
"First, let me formally introduce myself. I am the end of all things living—"

  
"D-death?!" Harry interrupts.

  
Dumble—Death gives him a dry look. 

That—huh?

Harry actually believes him—it, them? Dumbledore doesn't make expressions like that.

  
"Take care not to interrupt me, my boy." It says lightly, but Harry gets the message. "I appear before you as your former headmaster because he is part of my realm and therefore a part of me. He speaks through me."

  
Harry waits for his voice to fade before asking his question.

  
"So, you're a medium of sorts?"

  
Dumble-Death nods. "I suspected perhaps before the moment you arrived here, that you would not do what Dumbledore would ask of you. But I was not sure. You are peculiar being, my boy. I could not, for the life of me, anticipate what you would do next."

  
Harry snorts. Then quickly covers his mouth.  
It jostles the soul piece thing and starts another round of wails. 

  
Dumble-Death waves his hand and the gollum goes to sleep.

  
"I think your unpredictableness has everything to do with you having mastered my Hallows, in every existence similar to this one."

  
"Every existence?"

  
"Well, some of them."

  
Silence.

  
Harry sighs. "What do you mean?"

  
"Time, my young friend, is not circular, nor is it linear. It is similar to a tree with branches stretching out to the vast eternity that surrounds us. Probability of a certain action being taken or a situation coming into existence is what keeps this tree growing. With probability, there is chance of whether or not that certain action will be taken or an alternative will be utilised.

This means that, Harry, you could've brushed your teeth this morning, but instead you used mouth wash. In another Earth, similar to the one you exist in, this morning you brushed your teeth. 

  
It could be anything from that, to actually fleeing instead of facing Voldemort. There is an infinite amount of worlds out there, Harry."

  
Harry breaths out sigh, because this is his life. He's got to stop getting surprised by things like this happening to him,it's getting old. "So in some of the other worlds I mastered your hallows? The wand, the cloak and the stone?" 

  
"Indeed. And in all those worlds you used them differently, and in some you weren't even aware of what power you held in your grasp."

  
In hindsight though, that is alot to take in. "So what happens now pro-uh Mr Death Sir."

  
Dumble-Death chuckles into his hand, eyes twinkling in merriment. "Well, my dear boy. Seeing as you want to save Voldemort because of your impressive guilt complex, you've quite a journey ahead of you. It will be long and most definitely hard, and the results might not be what you want them to be."

  
Harry frowns. That doesn't sound like fun. But—"I'll do it."

  
"Very well." The being nods. "Seeing as the only pieces of his soul that are left are those currently residing in his body and the one you hold in your hand, the only way to return him to his original state is if you travel along the branches of time and collect his hocruxes."

  
"Travel the branches of time?" Harry asks, dubiously.

  
"Voldemort was right in that no one had ever gone as far as he in persuit of immortality. He mutilated his soul, a sin even I, a being of complete nuetrality, cannot overlook. You destroyed his hocruxes and by extension, the soul pieces thst were stored in them.

Unfortunately, the pieces left will forever be stuck in limbo, suffering as you see. The others no longer exist, and therefore I cannot judge his soul. 

  
He has offended the balance greatly Harry, and would suffer his crimes in this way were it not for your "saving people thing". 

  
There is a catch unfortunately.

  
His soul cannot be restored, not in this universe. The balance will not allow it."

  
Harry thinks about it for a moment. Voldemort must have made hocruxes in the other realities right? "So, I'll have to travel to an alternate dimension?"

"Yes, you will travel to all those dimensions where you never partook in the war, had yet to be born or died before you could destroy them all."

  
"Wait, so I'll be moving through different times and different realities?"

  
Dumble-Death chuckles. "I did say it would not be easy. We can always turn back now, my boy."

Harry thinks about it.

Who ever gave Tom Marvalo Riddle a chance? Just one small measly chance?  
No one.  
No fucking one.

  
"Fuck...no, I'll do it, Sir. I'll do it."

  
Dumble-Death proceeds to tell him a whole lot about the plot that he missed or just wouldn't have found out about as he spent year after year trying to survive Voldemort, the Dursley's, Dumbledore's mechanisations, werewolves and evil Defence Professors.

  
"Seems like we're about to reach our first stop." Dumble-Death says. "You will retrieve the soul pieces in the order that you destroyed them in."

  
"So I'll start with the diary?"

  
"Yes." The being nods. "I wish you the best of luck Harry."

  
"Wa—"

............ 

"—it!"

  
"Dear me, Mr Peverell. Are you alright?"

  
Harry blinks confusedly at Dumbledore's question. "Ex-eh, Professor?" 

  
"You must join the other students for the sorting ceremony, my boy." He manoeuvres Harry into the Great Hall, ignoring his wide eyed panicked look, and down to the first year students that are about to be sorted.

  
"—oh, yes. And this year, we have an exchange student all the way from the South African school of magic, Platinumberg Academy, young Mr. Hadrian Peverell who will be joining the fifth years. I hope you will all make Mr Peverell's stay here at Hogwarts an experience he will never forget."

  
Circe, Harry thinks. That last sentence there was very ambiguous.

  
Peverell?

  
Why the hell did they think he was—  
For that matter, how in Circe's name did he get here? And Platinumberg Academy? Seriously, he's never even been to South Africa.   
How—  
What.

He feels amusement that really...isn't his own. It doesn't feel like Voldemort's...

Sigh. Oh.  
Oh, it all made sense now.

Honestly, Dumble-Death did not seem like the kind with good humor .

He has no chance of blending seamlessly into the masses with a name like that.

  
"Step forward, my boy." Armando Dippet says, gesturing the wooden stool.

  
Harry notices that, yeah—yes, he'd been lost in thought and everyone had been sorted.   
The hat is barely touching his head before shouting "Slytherin!"

Bullocks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two. The plot is definitely taking shape, well, inside my head that is.  
> Poor Harry, seems like things aren't going to be easy at all for him.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments.  
> I'd like to hear more of your feedback, so please comment. Promise I'll answer with haste

_Father_

  
_I know it usually takes a week or two before I send a letter home, but I simply couldn't help myself._

  
_The most peculiar thing happened today during the sorting feast. A fifth year exchange student going by the name Hadrian Peverell was sorted into Slytherin. Apparently he's from a prestigious academy found in South Africa, Platinumberg, Headmaster Dippet called it._  
_At first I assumed he was an imposter, or perhaps a Muggleborn that happened to go by the name Peverell, you know how sometimes their family names are Wizarding even though otherwise, but it seemed too much of a coincidence, not with him looking somewhat like a Potter._

  
_Please answer this letter with haste, and perhaps advice me on how to move on from here._

  
_Your son._

_Fleamont Potter._

....................

_Father_

_A fifth year exchange student has enrolled themselves into Hogwarts, at least, the assumption is so._

  
_They go by the name Hadrian Peverell. I'd thought the line had gone extinct._

  
_Your thoughts?_

_Abraxas Malfoy._

........................

_Father_

_I'm sure you've heard, but there's a mudblood claiming to be a member of long since extinct Peverell line._

  
_Please advice me on how to proceed._

  
_Your son._

_Orion Black._

.....................

_Father_

_What's the least suspicious way to off a larcenous mudblood?_

  
_Your son._

_Cantankerous LeStrange._

................ 

  
There's an ominous chuckle in the air that Harry feels like he's probably the only one who can hear. He's a ball of nerves, it doesn't help that the whole of Slytherin hadn't bothered to even politely clap at the prospect of his sorting.

  
Circe, they hadn't even bothered to open a space for him to sit amongst his year mates, even though Harry was sure that was something they were supposed to do.

  
He'd been forced to sit at the very end of the table, and then had to endure an hour of deathly glares sent in his direction. God's, did he kill someone?

Where was all the fucking amnosity coming from?

Unfortunately, he couldn't tear out of the Great Hall when Dippet announced the end of the feast. It would be suspicious as hell if he'd be able to navigate his way around a school that by all intents and purposes he'd just been enrolled in. 

  
So he had to wait for his Head of House, who happened to be Slughorn, to tuck in the rest of his meal before coming down and setting the prefects to work.

Oh. 

Oh dear.

Tom Riddle. The reason he's here. 

  
Looking at him.

  
Harry doesn't like that look. It does not bode well for him ro be on the receiving end of it. But what did he think would happen, honestly? Riddle just couldn't seem to leave him the hell alone before, it sure as hell was going to change just because they were in different realities.

"If you're all finished with your meal, Tom here," Slughorn gestured, "who is a fifth year prefect will lead you to your common room and dorms."

  
"Follow me." Riddle says, curtly, but not unkindly.

Then starts the long, but seemingly short (at least in Harry's head) trip down into the castle dungeons and subsequently the Slytherin common room and dorms.

  
"Pureblood." Riddle says to the snake on the common room entrance, which promptly swings open afterwards.

  
They all bustle into the room, the ickle firsties whispering excitedly amongst each other. Harry feels a bit self conscious towering over them all. He has no body to hide behind after all, and is subject to all the glares being sent his way by those that had decided to stay behind instead of going to their dorm rooms.

  
"Welcome to greatest house in the school, I am your fifth year prefect Tom Riddle, along with my colleague Dorea Black." He gestures to the absolutely stunning—ah yes, another person giving him a laser eyed glare. 

  
Wait, Dorea Black.

  
Wasn't she his grandmother or something?

  
"You'll find out who the other prefects are on your own time. Boys dorms are to your left up the staircase right around the corner, and the girls to your right. The password changes every week. Take care to learn it and not forget it, because you will find yourself owing someone a favour otherwise.

This is Slytherin, the house of cunning and ambition. Don't take it personally if someone uses you as their stepping stone to success, it's how our world works. 

  
Tutoring sessions dates will be posted on the notice board. Make sure not to fall behind on your assignments and studies or you will regret it. And if you dare to lose this house points." 

  
Alot was left unsaid, but Harry was floored.

Nothing of this sort had happened during his first year. Maybe it was a Slytherin thing.  
Before Riddle can continue with his chilling monologue Slughorn steps in. 

  
"Ah, Tom. I hope you've gotten everyone up to speed. First years, Mr Peverell, this House is the best in Hogwarts, and therefore, I expect you all to uphold it's status with good behaviour and good academic performance.

The other houses will sneer at you and call you words, but do not mind them. You are not here for petty squabbles and childish rivalry. You are here to be equipped with skills that will help you survive the world out there.

  
Do not loose focus on what your goals are. Keep together and do not fight amongst each, at least not out there where they can see. Because I promise you they will use it against you. 

  
Your stay here will not be easy, Merlin no, but you will leave this place stronger than they can ever hope to be. Now, off you go, mingle, find your beds and have a good night. If you need my help with anything, and I mean anything, my private chambers can be accessed through that portrait by the wall."

Harry really is floored—no, stunned now. 

Slughorn actually fucking cared. He'd always assumed otherwise. The man was incredibly shallow after all, only interested in those that had great potential to be famous.

But he actually fucking cared.

  
McGonagall had never given them a talk like this, or even offered them a open door policy. At least, he doesn't remember her to have.

  
Slughorn quickly leaves soon after and the first years disperse into little groups, heading to their dorm rooms.

  
Harry is left standing awkwardly by the door, avoiding the glares he can feel boring into his skull. 

  
He sighs, Circe, why had he—

  
"Peverell." Riddle says, staring impassively at him. "Follow me."

Reluctantly, Harry follows the other boy, staring into the back of his incredibly neat head of hair. Riddle leads him into a dorm room, and then to his bed, which is right next to his (suprise suprise there, he thinks sarcastically), that even has a trunk. 

"This is your bed."

  
And then he's left alone.

Harry opens the trunk, and rummages through it. There seems to be a couple standard robes in there, ranging from green to black, and they look and feel quite expensive (gods, at least Dumble-Death has taste, not that Harry even knows what that entails), sleepwear and a bunch of toiletries, another set of expensive looking uniform with the Slytherin green emblem, three pairs of shoes, a pair made of dragonhide, a pile of textbooks, quills, ink and alot of stationary, a shrunken potions kit with an assortment of ingredients, half of which he's never seen before and finally a satchel filled with—galloens.

At least he isn't broke either.

But somethings missing.  
.....

  
....

  
...

  
..

  
.

  
His wand.

He doesn't have a fucking wand.

Don't panic Harry, he thinks. It's not like you're stuck in a snake pit with dozens of vipers just itching to bite your dumb arse.

He changes out of his uniform, slipping into his expensive sleepwear. Gods, it feels good. He thinks he understands why rich people love this shite. 

And then when he slides into his bed, after closing his blinds, does he think about the unfairness of it all. He's sleeping on a cloud for Circe's sake. 

  
His bed in Griffindor had felt like it was two steps away from the thing he slept on back at the Dursley's. And the sheets were scratchy and irritating.

This feels like heaven. He goes to sleep before he can even think about getting in the mood.

...............

"Where am I?" Harry asks, looking around the white space. It not like before, when he thought he was dead. This feels different.

  
"We're in your head."

  
Harry looks at Dumble-Death. It's kinda getting old, and freepy. And Harry kind off wants to knee Dumbledin the nuts so... "Can you stop appearing as Dumbledore. It's just..."

  
"Very well." 

  
He blinks and some wierd looking old lady is standing in front of him. Death seems to have a thing for old people.

  
"Why don't I have a wand?" He asks first, before he forgets.

  
"You need only think of it, and it will appear."

Harry closes his eyes, and thinks of his Holly wand. Suddenly there's the weight of it on his right hand. He opens his eyes and looks down at his hand, but— "This is the Elder wand."

  
"It'll appear as your former wand in the real world, don't worry about it."

  
Harry nods, sighing in relief. He's not sure what Dumbledore would do if he noticed just what wand he was using.

  
"Why am I here?"

  
"I thought you'd have questions."

  
Harry thinks for a moment. "I think I get the gist of what you want me to do.   
Riddle's going to create a hocrux soon. I will swoop in and steal it."

  
Death blinks at him. "Yes, I suppose that is it. Although I thought you'd have a problem with Myrtle Warren being a casualty."

  
"You told me something about fate right, and that some events would happen no matter what I do." 

  
Death nods, looking pleased. "Good. This journey will be much easier for you if you approach it with that mindset."

  
Those words don't actually absolve him of the guilt that curls around his stomach. It's just that, this is for Tom. He's doing this for Tom.

  
Maybe if he tells himself that again and again it'll be easier.

  
"I had brought you here originally because I'm very worried about what your schoolmates might do to you. You've disturbed a hornets nest, unintentionally it may have been, but you have nonetheless, and you need to take advantage of the situation."

  
"Okay." Harry nods, swallowing painfully.

  
"I need your permission to dampen your emotions. It is a flawed solution, but you will not get through this year intact if you are to feel things normally."

  
"I'm in a heap of trouble aren't I?"

  
"A lot. But fear not, with your emotions out of the way, you'll be able to do magic better."  
"Isn't magic all about intent?"

  
"Yes, but you aren't really a wizard now are you Harry? Who else but yourself could ever claim to have traveled through different realities?"

  
"So I'm the first?"

  
"Indeed." Death nods. "Do not hold back, but do not over do it. You'll find that magic comes easier to you and you can cast spells for longer than you would've ever been capable to had you remained 'normal'."

  
"Okay. Dampen my emotions, if it means I can get through whatever psychological torture they have in store for me, then I want it to affect me as least as possible."

  
"I'll be here if you need me, Harry. So fear not."

  
"Okay."

..................

So, with that Harry finally sleeps the rest of the night away, breathing easier.

  
But a figure stares down at him, a snarl on their lips, marveling at the audacity of this fucking mudblood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just want to say that I don't know many people's names, so there will be OC's, many OC's. And my history isn't the best, so please, if you have a comment about something I did wrong be nice about it. And I hope no one is insulted by the Lithuanian names and surnames, this is all purely fictional and nothing of the sort happened, I actually know nothing about the country besides what I learned from reading Hannibal fanfics.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy the chapter. Please leave comments and kudos.
> 
> And I do not own or make money out of any of this. Harry Potter and all its works belong to the brilliant and beautiful J.K. Rowling.

Fleamont

Your mother and I are doing alright, my son. Thank you very much for asking.

Observe the boy. If he proves to come from the good sort, even though I highly doubt that is the case seeing as he's a Slytherin, extend a hand in friendship. 

Your father.

Lord Henry Potter.

...................

Abraxas

Test him. Do not get caught. If you're unable to do so, only observe.

Your father.

Lord Septimus Malfoy.

....................

Orion

I want to know of what use he could be to our house. Test him.

Your father. 

Lord Arcturus Black.

.....................

Orion

Whatever your father suggested do no attempt. Caution must be your best friend in such an occasion. The Peverell line may be extinct but it may not be. Our family should not be on the young man's wrong side if the case is the latter.

  
Do not follow the other heir's examples, if they are to shun him, like I am absolutely sure they will, befriend him.

Your mother.

Lady Melania Black.

........................

Cantankerous

Don't be foolish my son. Test him, I don't want you accidentally killing someone who could be of use to the family.

Practice extreme caution.

  
Your father.

Lord Roger LeStrange.

.........................

Drip...

  
Drip...

  
Drip...

  
Drip...

What is that annoying dripping sound? And why am I...soaked?, Harry thinks.

The smell hits him first.

And then, before his eyes are even open, he tips his head to the side of his bed and vomits.

  
Gods.

  
He just vomited blood. 

Circe, why is he drenched?

"They banished it into your stomach."  
His head snaps up to the boy looking at him from the door. "What?" He croaks. His throat feels raw.

  
"They banished the chicken blood into your stomach. You won't get anymore sick then you feel now." The boy says, slowly closing the door.

  
Harry looks at the rest of his bed, which is practically covered in blood. Fucking hell, how disturbing. "Who are you?"

  
"Orion Black." The boy introduces, giving his bed a distasteful stare. "How... banal." He says, under his breath.

  
It makes sense now, the slight familiarity of his eyes and the slope of his nose. This is Sirius' dad.

  
"You're not a fifth year." Harry says.

  
"No, I'm a third year."

They stare at each other, and Harry slowly starts to realise that although the scene is disturbing, he's not even the least bit freaked out. Is this what Death's offer had been protecting him from?

  
"Do you know who did this to me?"

  
Orion tilts his head in thought. "Most probably all your roommates, except Riddle. This is not his style."

  
Harry believes that. 

  
"Well, are you going to sit in that blood until it congeals?" Orion says, suddenly.

  
"Excuse me?"

  
"Get up, get showered and get dressed. Breakfast ends in fifteen minutes." 

  
Harry slowly removes the wet covers from his body and tip toes to the bathroom.  
It's not till he's showered and toweling his hair that he realises he wandlessly and wordlessly summoned his toiletries to the showers without any second thoughts or hesitation.

  
Luckily it takes a simple thought to materialise his wand. Orion won't ask questions. 

  
"Come on, Harry. You've got to pay attention to everything around you otherwise you won't survive to see the end of the week." He whisperes to himself.

  
He quickly walks back to his bed and opens his trunk. It's doesn't seem like anything was done to it, thank Merlin, so he quickly changes into his school robes, not even the slightest bit unnerved by Orion's unwavering stare.

  
This is all very suspicious behaviour, especially from a Slytherin. Orion definitely isn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart.

  
He's done in record time, and it seems like Orion's taken care to remove his bloody sleeping material and put it in his hamper.  
Suspicious indeed.

  
So, very quickly, they leave the dorm room and descend into the common room, which barely has anyone in it and then make their way to the Great Hall.

  
"They are testing you."

  
Harry gives him a side glance. "Why?"

  
"Surely you're not that obtuse."

Something tells Harry to feign ignorance. "It's because of my name, isn't it?"

  
Orion sighs, looking a bit conflicted. "They believe you're an imposter, line thief, mudblood, you name it, they think you're it."  
He doesn't mention that he has similar concerns but Harry can see it written all over his face. Which is weird, because Orion's face is completely blank.

  
"Why?"

  
Orion spares him a dry glance.

  
"The Peverell line was the first British Pureblood Wizarding line to go extinct on the male side, back in the early 1200s." 

  
Harry remembers Hermione mentioning something about this whilst she read from Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.

  
What if he says—"True," Harrry says. "but did it ever occur to any of you that Antioch Peverell had descendants of his own."  
Orion tilts his head, showing that he's listening.

  
"You've all probably read about the history of my family, and that Cadmus' line married into the Gaunts and Ignotus' line was inducted into the Potter's when his granddaughter Iolanthe married Hardwin Potter. But what of Antioch's children? Do you know anything about them?"

  
Orion stops, frowning.

  
"No, I don't. It's believed that he was murdered before he could father an heir."

  
Harry's not sure why, but he's absolutely certain that every word leaving his mouth is true. "Have you heard of the Danilewicz line?" 

  
"There isn't a self respecting wizard that hasn't. Except maybe a bloodtraiter family and even that is unlikely. They are royalty. And of course, one of thier own invented Ugnies—Viskis, a delicacy not every sort can afford and with good reason."

  
"If you're really interested in finding out just what sort I belong to, perhaps look very closely into their history. It might be worth your while."

They finally make it to the Great Hall. 

........................

"I'll give it to the mudblood, he doesn't even look slightly fazed." LeStrange says, snarling at the new boy.

  
"It seems he's more resourceful than we gave him credit. I've never seen Heir Black acting so chum with anyone before." Avery says, nibbling at his sausage.

  
"Black has more tact than all of you combined." Tom says, speaking perhaps for the first time this morning. His lips almost twitch in amusement when all conversations around him cease and eyes are drawn to his figure. "Instead of being 'chum' with...Peverell briefly so that you can find out if he's genuinely who he says he is, you've perhaps made an enemy who could prove difficult to break."

  
"It's a good thing I warned you lot against antagonizing him as of yet." Malfoy adds. "If only you'd listened."

  
"I wonder how he's going to react." Walburga says, idly. "Personally I hope someone suffers. I don't care which one of you idiots it is."

  
"When did you become so sadistic, dear sister?" Alphard Black grumbles, stabbing his pancakes with his fork.

  
"Right around the numerous lessons father conducted, you know, the ones you missed." She says tartly.

  
Black snorts, which unfortunately has Walburga snarling in disgust. "That is no way for a Black to behave."

  
"Stop it, you two." Lucretia says.

  
"Lucretia, mummy and daddy are trying to have an argument." Avery mocks.

  
Black turns an alarming shade of purple, "You f—"

  
"Tut, tut, tut." Tom says slowly, his good mood evaporating. "I'd thought I only needed to repeat this rule to the first years. No fighting outside the common room."

  
They're all composed a second later, but Black shoots Avery a poisonous look before going back to his plate.

  
Tom's eyes are drawn to Professor Slughorn, who after polishing his plate, wipes his mouth and steps down from the Head. 

  
He walks up to... Peverell and engages him in a short conversation. 

...........................

"My dear boy, I hope you settled in Slytherin well last night. Forgive me for not saying it, but welcome to Slytherin. You have quite the year ahead of you."

  
"Thank you, Professor." Harry says, keeping the grimace off his face.

  
"I see you've made a friend," he says, gesturing Orion, who nods. "excellent. He'll be a good influence to you. Orion is the most brilliant student in his year."

  
"You flatter me, Professor." Orion says, blankly, unimpressed.

  
Slughorn doesn't seem to notice this, for he chuckles in amusement. "Hadrian, you don't mind me calling you that—" he goes on before Harry can even say anything. "—come along. The first class on your schedule is Potions, which fortunately is a class that I teach. Here."

  
He hands Harry his schedule, which luckily seems to have all the classes he did in his time when he chances a glance at it.  
Harry nods in goodbye to Orion, and stands to leave.

  
As they walk out of the Great Hall, he feels numerous eyes following him. Mostly, he feels Tom's gaze glued on his back.

..............................

"I'd like to welcome you all to a new year here at Hogwarts, your fifth to be exact. This year we will be brewing potions that are bit difficult but worry not, I will be with you every step of the way, as I always am.

Take care to note every lesson I teach as most if not all the potions might appear in your OWLs. You might need to brew them, or answer structered questions on their properties and ingredients. Today we will be mixing a potion called The Draught of Peace. Can anyone tell me what it does—yes, Tom."

  
"It relieves anxiety Professor."

  
"Correct Tom, five points for Slytherin. What could a possible overdose of this potion cause, or perhaps getting the ingredients wrong?"

  
Harry, after a moment of consideration, raises his hand.

  
"Mr Peverell?"

  
"If you're too heavy-handed with the ingredients you could put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep."

  
He remembers this potion clearly from Snape's first lesson in his fifth year. The git had given him a zero that day. Bloody tosser.

  
"Indeed," Slughorn says happily. "Another five points for Slytherin. The potion is a bit difficult to brew, but I'm sure you'll all do well. Open your books to page 37 and begin brewing."

Harry does as told.

  
' ** _It is ironically a difficult potion to make, requiring that the brewer follow the directions carefully, because making a mistake can have drastic consequences._**

  
**_The directions for making the potion are very detailed. Ingredients must be added in the exact order and amounts specified, and the potion needs to be stirred 7 times, both clockwise and counter-clockwise. Before the addition of the final ingredient, hellebore, the temperature of the flames must be lowered, and the potion allowed to simmer for seven minutes._ **

**_If brewed correctly, the potion will emit a silvery vapour, but the possible characteristics of a failed batch seem to be endless (everything from green sparks, dark grey steam, a sulphurous odour, a cement-like consistency, to a dangerous instability that will cause it to explode and set one's robes alight)._ **

**_Recipe_ **

  
**_To brew the Draught of Peace, follow these steps:_ **

**_1\. Add powdered moonstone until the potion turns green._**  
 ** _2\. Stir until the potion turns blue._**  
 ** _3\. Add powdered moonstone until the potion turns purple._**  
 ** _4\. Allow to simmer until the potion turns pink._**  
 ** _5\. Add syrup of hellebore until the potion turns turquoise._**  
 ** _6\. Allow to simmer until the potion turns purple._**  
 ** _7\. Add porcupine quills until the potion turns red._**  
 ** _8\. Stir until the potion turns orange._**  
 ** _9\. Add more porcupine quills until the potion turns turquoise._**  
 ** _10\. Allow potion to simmer till the potion turns purple._**  
 ** _11\. Add unicorn horn until the potion turns pink._**  
 ** _12\. Stir until the potion turns red._**  
 ** _13\. Allow to simmer until the potion turns purple._**  
 ** _14\. Add more powdered moonstone until the potion turns grey._**  
 ** _15\. Allow the potion to simmer until it turns orange._**  
 ** _16\. Add more porcupine quills until the potion turns white whilst stirring._**  
 ** _17\. Let it simmer in low heat. Add exactly 7 drops of hellebore_**.'

  
'Seems simple enough,' he thinks. 'Except, I know for a fact that this potion needs only powdered ingredients. It increases the surface area of reaction, right? And I'm supposed to add Valerian root after the Unicorn horn.'

  
He quickly walks to the ingredients room when it clears and collects the specified amount of each ingredient, then makes his way back to his working station.

  
He turns on the burner and sets his expensive cauldron on the tripod stand.

Then, with a simple agumenti, half fills the couldrin with water and let's it heat till it boils.

  
He adds the specified amount of powdered moonstone and stirs the mix until it turns from pale green to blue. He then adds more powdered moonstone until it changes to purple, then adds a drop of hellebore syrup.

He lets it simmer to turquoise whilst crushing some porcupine quills, ten to be exact, then after shaking the powder until it's ready, adds it to the mix as well, whilst stirring. It turns red, which is good.

  
He lets the potion simmer whilst he crushes half a unicorn horn.

  
"You seem to have an affinity for potions." The girl sitting next him says.

  
Harry spares her a glance. Slytherin. 

  
Great, just bloody fucking great. "I'm just reading from the book." He says, dropping a Valerian root into the mix.

  
"Don't remember the book saying anything about Valerian root."

  
Harry ignores her.

  
"That kind of attitude won't get you anywhere in our house." She's met with silence, but she continues. "Best remove the mystery around your bloodline and status so that we can all go back to our normal and boring lives."

  
Harry sighs. She has a point, somewhat.  
"Who are you again?"

  
"Eileen Pince."

  
"Hadrian—"

  
"Peverell, yes. I know." She interrupts with a drawl. "Everyone does."

  
Nasty thing she is, he thinks. Reminds me of that git Snape.

He then stirs for the next thirteen minutes, not minding her occasional glance. The adds half a crushed unicorn horn until the potion turns pink. Then he stirs it until it turns red, then let's it simmer under high fire.

  
Without much thought he launches into a tale, one he's yet again sure is true. "Five months ago, I received a letter from Gringotts. It said all the assets in the Peverell vaults would be liquidated and the funds would go to the ministry unless someone claimed them.

The letter had apparently been sent to those with Peverell blood in them."

  
"If that were true, then half the pureblood Lord's would've received that letter."

  
"True, but the letter was sent to those with the strongest blood in them, those with the true line. Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus weren't the only Peverell's around back then, they were Lord Henrikus' sons, the only one's set to inherit whatever their father left behind for them."

  
Eileen nods to the point because it's true. Walburga and Alphard are Blacks, but Alphard isn't one of Arcturus' children so he can't inherit the Lordship unless Orion dies because he isn't from the main branch of the family.

  
"What most people don't know is that when Antioch moved from town to town bragging about how his wand was undefeated, he had many unsolicited affairs.

He met, on his travels, a Lithuanian Dutchess by the name Ugne Danilewicz, she was a sort of black sheep of the family. They concieved a child but unfortunately he died before she gave birth. 

  
And although the bastard brought shame to the family, somewhat, he was reluctantly accepted.

It was all hush hush, even though bastards were common back then as well. Mostly it was because the Peverell's were thought peculiar, especially when their supposed exploits with Death became well known. They didn't want the stain to be known."

  
"So you're saying the Danilewicz family hid a bastard heir and never once mentioned it through all this time?" She blinks incredulously. "That's outrageous."

"Well it's the truth, however outrageous it may sound. The Danilewicz family is a Lithuanian Royal Line, they don't care about British politics and what not."

  
"Alright, I suppose the story does somewhat make sense. But still, why do you go by the name Peverell? Surely someone would have noticed that name over the years and said something about it."

  
"I decided to legally change my name to Peverell a few days after I got here. My family and I don't have the best of relationships. I wished to be independent of them."

  
"So who were you before you became Hadrian Peverell?"

  
"Adomaitis Danilewicz, second born son of Hanibalo III Danilewicz."

  
"Merlin's saggy nuts." She says, wide eyed. "You're joking right? This is a joke."

  
Harry frowns at her. What the hell is Death up to?

  
"You're more than welcome to poke around. I just gave you my former name."

  
He adds the rest of the ingredients, adding 6 instead of 7 drops of hellebore syrup when the potion turns white before letting it simmer under low heat, then, when the timer reaches 90 minutes, he switches off the burner.

  
Then, as Slughorn is checking over the other students potions, Eileen leans over and says, "They're all going to shit themselves when they realise they bathed royalty in chicken blood."

Shit themselves they will, Harry promises.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I'm being a bit too cheeky with the updates, mostly because I know that I'm about to start my internship and I'm probably going to be busy soon. So, the next chapter will probably come out on Friday depending on how my week is going. I don't want you guys getting too used to the updates every two days.  
> I'll eventually fall into a schedule though and I'll stick to it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's sort of an interlude before a bit of shit starts hitting the fan. Especially for the 5th year Slytherins that share a room with our Lithuanian Princeling.

After potions, where Slughorn sang praises to his, Eileen and of course Tom's name, saying he'd never seen Draught of Peace brewed so perfectly by students as young as themselves, Harry quickly sprints off to the Great Hall and packs lunch in a serviette and then deftly makes his way to his dorm room. 

  
The common room is blessedly empty of wandering eyes, so he quickly makes his way to his room. He closes the door and quickly climbs on to his newly made bed, thank Circe for house-elfs, and closes the blinds. Then he casts a strong silencing charm.

  
"Okay, what in the name of Merlin is happening to me?"

  
There's no warning before he hears a voice in his head. 'You have more questions?' the being asks, making him jump.

  
"Yes, I have more questions. I'm just as clueless as the rest of them about what's going on."

  
'Adomaitis Danilewicz died of an aneurysm before he could reach British soil. I simply put your soul in his body a moment after it happened. It took a while for your soul to assimilate itself and for you to remember everything.'

  
"Erhh—Why would you put my soul..."

  
'I don't know what else you expected me to do. You wouldn't have been able to do much without a body.'

  
Pause. "Point taken. But still, I've never heard of the Peverell beyond what Hermione read out loud."

  
'They were completely extinct in your world, only traces of their blood could be found diluted in almost every British wizarding bloodline. In this one, they aren't.'

  
"The letters?"

  
'Were sent to Adomaitis and not his older brother, who was already set to inherit a Lordship, Fleamont Potter and Marvalo Gaunt.

In your world Fleamont Potter was able to quietly absorb the Peverell line into the Potter line because Marvalo never read letters from the Ministry or the Goblins, and thus did not contest his claim as a descendant of the second brother of the last Lord Peverell.'

  
Harry bites his lower lip. Why the hell hadn't he taken the chance to actually learn anything about his family history?

  
'You weren't truly living. Dumbledore largely played a part in making you ignorant of your worth. You only survived when you were within Hogwarts walls and never truly lived when you were shipped off to those wretched muggles who loathed everything magic.

You could've tried harder, I admit, but it was somewhat too much to ask of you.'

"Okay," he sighs. "so what do I do now?"

  
'Tom Riddle will create his first Hocrux right around the first time a Muggleborn is petrified by the basilisk. I can't say which way is best to approach this. Do what you think is best.  
Also, my boy, I cannot make you understand everything. Some things you must figure out on your own.'

  
Not omnious at all.

....

...

  
He's pretty sure Death is gone to do death things a moment later.

  
"Okay, so I'm Lithuanian royalty. It's in my best interest to make everyone believe I somehow don't get along with my family and I'm also really Lord Peverell and not some fake." He mutters to himself, partially relieved.

  
He opens the serviette and starts eating his lunch.

  
Gods, what fucking year is it again?

...........................

  
"Is that so?" Acwel Parkinson says, smirking.

"I'd look much more closely into it, but..." Eileen trails off, jaw clenched.

  
"Your family's too poor to be wasting money on rumors, I know."

  
"You'll owe me a favour after this."

  
Acwel frowns, confused. "Now why the hell would I owe you a favour? You just gave me a name—"

  
"Don't play games with me, Parkinson. I know you'll tell anyone who's willing to listen as soon as you've confirmed what I've just shared with you. You'll owe me a favour, swear it."

  
Acwel sighs, and gods damnit, if only he was as nice as his face. "Eileen, you stupid mongrel. You should've demanded a favour before you told me anything."

  
"Do you seriously want to make an enemy of me?"

  
He smirks devilishly. "I think I can afford to."   
Then, he turns around, robes billowing a bit, before strutting away.

  
Eileen waits until he's rounded the corner before dropping her outraged expression. It's only a matter of time before things go back to normal. It's hard to get anything done when there's so much amnosity flying around.

Bloody Pureblood extremists.

..............................

"I look different." He says, dumbly. 

  
The face staring back at him from the mirror seems to say 'no shit'.

  
Of course he should've realised something was off when he woke up and could see clearly. Okay, he'd been overwhelmed ever since he got here, the gods could give him a break.

  
He needs a break.

  
A nice vacation, by the beach or something.   
(Also, how is it possible to avoid your reflection that long?)

  
His hair is mostly the same—no, scratch that, it's completely different. It's no longer brown, or messy, but 'its long and midnight black, like really really black. His bone structure is a bit different too, his cheekbones are more severe and much higher, his nose thinner, his lips fuller and his skin is milky pale, not sickly, milky, and it actually looks great, the whole get up.

He's actually really fucking pretty. And a bit taller. But still, he's very pretty. He looks somewhat the same but not at the same time. He's pretty—

Okay, moving on. No need to get narcissistic about a body he sort of highjacked.  
One last peek though.

This at least is one respite.

He goes back to the dorm room and picks up his schedule from his bed. He has no classes after lunch, which is bloody fantastic and explains why no one's come back to the room yet. 

  
Okay, he needs to take this time to figure things out because Death can't always help him. There'd be no character development if he got all the answers he wanted without working for them.

  
So, phase one. Understanding why his mouth goes off without his permission.

  
Death says Adomaitis died before he reached British soil and that he put Harry's soul in his body moments later.

This was possibly some four-five months ago, maybe even longer because the little Princeling only decided to come to Britain after he received the letter from Gringotts. Which was approximately five months ago if anything that leaves Harry's mouth involuntarily is to be believed.

But then why does it feel like only a moment passed between him being in Limbo and then being shoved in Adomaitis' body? Can the whole assimilation thing Death talked about be blamed?

Okay, maybe he should conduct an experiment?

He opens his trunk and riffles through it. Maybe if he comes across something farmiliar it'll jog his memory or something.  
The clothes don't do anything for him. But they also look completely new, which wouldn't be too much of a stretch. He'd never seen Draco Malfoy wear anything twice but his uniform. And even that didn't last a whole semester before he got a new set.

  
The books maybe?

  
He takes each book out, looking closely at the titles.

  
Sigh, they're all fifth year textbooks.  
Another sigh. He runs a hand through his long hair, gods, it's silky as fuck. How had he missed this?

  
He taps his chin in thought. It's very possible that this body's farmiliar actions don't even register as foreign to Harry. He might do things unconsciously and not even think of them as foreign until later, when he's processing his actions like he is now.

  
So farmiliarity makes him do things unconsciously. Farmiliarity—it must go both ways, right? Because Harry doesn't remember the last five months riding this body, but he can remember everything since he stood next to Professor Dumbledore outside the Great Hall.

  
He knows Hogwarts, and the faces he's seen so far are like echos of the future. So, if he wants to stay in control, he needs to always have something that reminds him of Harry Potter and loath he admit it, the life of the Boy Who Lived.

Okay, that's easy, because he'll be at Hogwarts for the next four months. He can come up with something in the meanwhile. He picks up an expensive looking robe and goes to put it in the tru—wait, is that a latch.

He pulls at but it doesn't budge. Of course, it's password protected. "Um, errh...visi atsiklaupė?" 

  
The secret compartment opens.

  
Harry blinks. Really? All Will Kneel?

  
He climbs down the stairs and blinks rapidly when the lights automatically go on.  
"I guess this is where the rest of his clothes are."

The whole living area is basically a walk in closet. There's clothes and shoes and accessories everywhere, gods. And yesterday's sleepwear it seems. 

  
Is it possible that the trunk cycles the clothes from here so that Harry can have something new to wear everyday? But honestly, he's getting ahead of himself. He's not here for clothes. 

  
He opens the door to his left which leads him to a study of sorts. There's a shelf to his right filled with books and scrolls, the desk with papers and books is in the middle and on his left there's hundreds of fluffy looking pillows strewn across the floor. Harry has to physically restrain himself from jumping into the heap. It looks soft.

  
He sits down behind the desk, on the incredibly comfortable leather chair and crosses his leg over the other. This feels familiar, but foreign to Harry.

  
"Hmm, let's see what you've been up to Adomaitis Danilewicz."

...............................

  
' _ **Hocruxes.**_

_**'A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul. Well, you split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged.' Herpo The Foul once said.** _

_**While a Horcrux could be anything at all, including a living being, it is most advisable to create a Horcrux out of an inanimate object to decrease the chances of it being destroyed.** _

  
_**Horcruxes by their nature appear to be extraordinarily durable, as only very destructive magics and processes can truly destroy them.** _

  
_**To create a Horcrux, a wizard first has to deliberately commit murder. This act, said to be the most supreme act of evil, will result in the murderer metaphysically damaging their own soul. A wizard who wishes to create a Horcrux will then use that damage to their advantage by casting a spell which will rip the damaged portion of the soul and encase it in an object. If the maker is later killed, he or she will continue to exist in a non-corporeal form, although there are many methods of regaining a physical body.** _

  
_**As a fragment of soul, a Horcrux will retain the identity of its creator at the time of its creation.** _

  
_**Horcruxes are essentially the opposite of a person. Where a person's container, their body, can be destroyed without any damage to their soul, the fragment of soul contained inside a Horcrux is dependent on the container for its existence. If the container is destroyed, so too will be the fragment of soul within it.** _

  
_**Horcruxes are originally conceived of as being a singular act.** _

  
_**The implied finite number of Horcruxes any one person may create before the process becomes too dangerous to attempt again is two, a wizard must not attempt anymore after this.** _

_**The creation of a Horcrux uses a set amount of soul, and this amount is the same every time the process is undertaken. Creating multiple Horcruxes renders the soul unstable and liable to break apart if the creator of the Horcruxes is killed**_.'

Interesting indeed, Tom thinks. I must thank Slughorn for this.

  
"Riddle."

  
He looks up. "Potter."

  
"Professor Dumbledore's asked to talk to Peverell. I was told he went to the dungeons. Could you please have someone bring him to me so I can escort him to Professor Dumbledore's office."

  
Tom almost smirks. "There's no need to do that Potter, I'll make sure Peverell makes it to Professor Dumbledore's office myself."

  
Potter's jaw clenches, but he nods concedingly a moment later. 

  
Tom closes the supposed 'Alchemical Journal' he was lightly browsing through then places it back in his book bag before leaving the library.

This is the perfect chance to conduct a test of his own on Peverell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thank you so much for the Kudos, and bookmarks and comments. Here's the new chapter as promised.
> 
> I'm a bit worried it's a bit messy though guys, so please please comment. Your feedback gives me life. And helps me know I'm not making a fool of myself😋. 
> 
> Anyways, back to chapter 5. Enjoy!!!

"Mmmh, Hogwarts brochure, didn't think Hogwarts had one." Harry mumbles under his breath. "The supposed letter from the bank is here. And one...from my father?"  
Harry hums, before opening the letter. 

He reads "  
Adomaitis

The annual Maniškis Ball is taking place on the first Saturday of September. I expect you to be home the day before.

Your brother and I are well, as is your little sister. And no, we've not managed to make any progress with the case. How goes your little adventure in Britain? I hear the weather's positively frigid at this time of the year. Keep warm and whatnot. 

And before I forget, I hope you haven't gotten up to too much mischief. You won't believe the amount of commoners I had to silence after your last game. 

Love

Your papa.'

Vague doesn't even half describe it, Harry thinks as he taps his chin. It seems like Hanibalo is at least somewhat aware of what Adomaitis came to Britian for. 

But what sort of mischief does he get up to?  
Harry continues going through the papers and books on the desk, but doesn't find anything truly worth noting. There's lots of books about British Wizarding Laws and Pureblood Etiquette, and various texts on obscure topics, like Norwegian Runes and Necromancy.

Harry's hand itches very badly when he picks up the book on Necromancy, but he resists. Maybe later, now really isn't the time.

He doesn't know if his sudden fascination with death is because of Adomaitis or because he sort of...died.  
There's also many books on dark curses, but those don't really interest him much either. 

"Total bust."

He looks at the pile of pillows again, gods, he'd really like to jump in there. But there's work to do.  
He stands from the desk and goes to the shelf then crouches to runs his fingers on the spines of books along the lowest row. Nothing. Just history, and most of it is in Lithuanian, which he can read perfectly by the way.

"This isn't getting me anywhere." He says with a sigh. "Maybe I should come back later."

Except he doesn't get to come back until much later, because a moment after he's stepped out of his trunk, Riddle enters the room.

"I could've sworn you weren't here a moment ago."

Harry only gives him a questioning glance.

"Professor Dumbledore wants to speak to you. I'm to escort you to his office."

Right. Harry narrows his eyes a bit.

It's possible Dumbledore sent a Griffindor prefect to get Harry, but since he's within Slytherin territory they asked Riddle to retrieve him, however the git must've offered to escort Harry to save the other the trouble.

Probably so that he'd have an excuse to interrogate Harry without making it obvious.

It probably would've worked if he'd worded it any other way. 'I'm to' makes the sentence too ambiguous, instead, he should've said 'The professor asked me to'. It could've also worked if Dumbledore wasn't the professor that wanted to see Harry.

Dumbledore doesn't like Tom after all.

"Of course. Lead the way."

Harry falls into step next to him, walking slightly behind so as to not raise suspicion. If there's anyone that can pick up on his familiarity with the castle it's Riddle.

"If you don't mind me asking—"

And so the interrogation begins.  
"—why'd you leave Platinumberg Academy?"

"Have you ever been to South Africa, Riddle?"

A pause. "No, I have not."

"It's a beautiful country, really, so much Ubuntu, as they call it. There's also so much diversity, truly it's a rainbow nation. Their cultures are magical, my favourite are the Zulu and Venda, they're far different from anything I've ever seen before. And that school could only be described as Eden. The elite of the elite go there. 

However, I did not go to that school to experience nirvana, I wanted to learn."

"And so you decided to come to Hogwarts?"

Harry looks around. Huh, Riddle's making them take the long way to Dumbldore's office. Smart.  
Except the effort is totally wasted on me, he thinks.  
Harry stares at him for awhile, until Riddle's forced to meet his gaze. "You're not as subtle as you think you are, Riddle."

Okay, so maybe calling him out on his bullshit isn't smart. This is starting to get old—but Harry thinks that this is more an Adomaitis thing than a Harry thing right now.

The look on Riddle's face kind of just melts away. The polite mask he'd had on just becomes blank. And his eyes—his eyes are hungry and calculating. They'd been like that before, but the mask had covered them. Gods, it should be unnerving to be on the other side of that look, but Harry's doing okay.

"Is that so?" 

Harry breaks eye contact, he doesn't want to tempt the other into slipping into his mind.

"You know what's most fascinating about you Peverell?"

"Please, enlighten me." Harry drawls.

"Yesterday, you looked meek, nervous, confused and mostly weak. Yet today, you're absolutely composed, a completely different person."

"Maybe I was a little overwhelmed." Even Dudley wouldn't have been convinced by that, but Harry isn't really making an effort to be convincing, now is he.

"Or maybe you wanted everyone to see you like that."

"I think you, more than anyone, know the significance of masks." Harry says. "But really, why does it concern you how I project myself to the world?"

"Because I can tell when a web is being spun."

"You should keep your eyes peeled, and be aware of your surroundings then." Harry says, smirking. "More often than not, the web unintentionally catches the spider's prey."

Riddle tilts his head. "And who exactly is this spider's prey?"

Harry smiles very widely, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and there must be something in his expression, because the skin around Riddle's eyes tightens and his expression somehow grows even colder.

"Mr Riddle, Mr Peverell."

"Professor Dumbldore." Harry greets, turning away from Riddle.

"Thank you for bringing him to me, Mr Riddle. Mr Peverell, please, step into my office."

Harry walks in what he knows as McGonagall's office, except it has about half of the things Dumbldore had in his office when he was Headmaster.

He feels Tom's chilling gaze until the door closes.

"Did you somehow get lost on your way here? I'd asked Fleamont to bring you—"

"It's alright Professor. Riddle volunteered to bring me here himself."

The professor hums. Gods, he looks young. Like, incredibly young-young. Like mid forties young.

"I hope he didn't harrass you into answering the questions everyone no doubt has about your lineage."

"I can handle it professor, don't worry."

"I'm glad you can handle that at least, but I suppose this bring us to the reason why I called you here today. You see, Mr Peverell, as deputy headmaster, I'm in charge of all student affairs, especially those that are above what the Heads of House can tackle. I received a rather alarming report from the house-elves this morning—"

"You're talking about the chicken blood?"

"Errh, yes, the chicken blood."

"My roommates decided to play a rather traumatizing prank on me."

"All of them?"

Harry thinks about for a moment before nodding. "Yes, all of them. They beheaded a great number of chickens and bled them onto my bed. Then they banished some of that blood into my stomach."

"Dear Merlin." Dumbledore says after gasping. "I must inform the board of governers th—"

"Professor, there's no need to alarm yourself. Or anyone else for that matter. I promise you the moment I feel like I can't handle what they throw at me, you'll be the first to know."

"That's irregardless of the point Mr Peverell. We do not condone hazing or bullying of any sorts in this school—"

"Professor." He says, interrupting the man. "I share a room with Heirs to Noble Houses. If I get them in trouble, their fathers will make my life miserable."

Dumbledore grimaces unhappily. "That is unfortunately true." He says slowly. "How then, Mr Peverell, do you wish to proceed?"

Harry closes his eyes. What to do, what to do? Harry Potter would probably let them get away with it but also hate them for the rest of eternity. But Adomaitis Danilewicz, what would he do?

"Tomorrow I'll give you a written statement of what went on. Please have the house-elves seal my soiled bedding somewhere."

Dumbledore narrows his eyes at him a bit, before nodding in understanding. "I see. Very well, Mr Peverell. Is there anything else I can help you with perhaps? Are you settling in well, errh, well—"

Harry chuckles. "I've made a new friend professor, don't worry. I'm having a magical experience, considering."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Is there anything you'd like to ask me professor?" Harry asks, smiling innocently.

"Well, I do have a few questions." Dumbledore answers slowly, looking a bit guilty. "Is your name truly Hadrian Peverell?"

"Legally, yes. It is."

"So you went by a different name before that one?"

"I did, professor."

Silence.

Harry feels his lips twitch.

"What was it?" Dumbledore finally asks.

Harry allows his lips to curl into a smile. "Adomaitis Danilewicz."

"Ah." Dumbledore breaths. "It makes sense now. I'd found it incredibly odd that someone came into the Peverell Lordship when there's been no previous Lord to inherit it from."

Harry hums in agreement.

"Mr... Peverell? I must warn you. Your name has no doubt brought the wrong sort of attention to your person. You must promise me you'll be incredibly careful, in fact—"

"I promise I will. If that's all Professor, I have something I need to do." He goes to stand, Dumbledore mirroring his actions.

"Yes, that's all. Thank you for seeing me Mr Peverell, and please, if there's anything you need help with my door is always open."

"I would, thank you Professor." Harry says as he opens the door. "Hypothetically speaking, what would happen to my instigators if you were to report them?"

"They'd be suspended and put under probation by the ministry for attacking a Noble Lord. But, they'd possibly be expelled and tried in court for attacking a member of a foreign Royal Line."

Harry almost smirks.

Perfect. 

....................................

There are three love seats and an elegant armchair by the fireplace, and all the occupants of Slytherin know that only the King and his favoured sit there. The rest of the court will be found scattered around the common room, seated in regular chairs and sofas found here and there.

It's almost a ritual now for Tom and his Knights to sit by the fireplace everyday to do their homework or discuss current affairs and other evil things. Today, like every other day, they're gathered by the fire, discussing thier favourite topic.  
The dark arts.

Evil indeed.

But they, just like everyone else, fall silent when the source of the majority's ire walks into the room, trailing in dung covered dragonhide boots.

The sight of that perhaps is what keeps them all silent as he makes his way towards the fireplace, where Tom and his Knights are seated.

Finally, he comes to a halt somewhat a distance from the five, and at this point, no one isn't looking at the spectacle. They've all gathered around them in a circle, eager to see what will happen next.

"I'd thought" Hadrian starts, looking at Tom. "that as a prefect, you would report the actions of your colleagues to our Head of House or perhaps even the Headmaster, but you didn't. So I will not exclude you from my judgement."

Tom tilts his head to the side, not seeming to be even the least bit worried.

Hadrian smiles. "I spoke to Professor Dumbledore awhile ago. He told me your actions would garner a suspension and perhaps a probationary period, which would be the best case scenario and that worst case you'd be expelled from the school and possibly sentenced to some form of punishment by the Ministry. But I managed to convince him from letting the board of governers know, not when there was a chance for you to repent. 

Well, that was the case a few hours ago, but I waited, and none of you sought me out to apologize. So I decided to take a stroll through the creatures pens, and I got thier faeces on my boots." He tuts. "I thought perhaps I'd give you even more time to think about it. But judging by your glares of disgust it hasn't quite sunk in what you did.

So, I will humiliate you, and show you your place.  
Lick my boots."

You could hear a pin drop from the silence.

And then everyone was laughing.

But Tom Riddle did not laugh. No, instead he felt something he'd never felt before settling heavily at the pit of his gut. 'What is this? What's going on', he thought.

"Are you blind or did you actually get dropped as an infant?" Nott asks, his tone mocking and cold.

"You may be a supposed Peverell, but we're Heirs to Noble Houses. Our father's won't let you attempt or even get away with somethin like that." Avery says, smirking.

"So you won't lick my shoes then?" Hadrian asks, lightly.

LeStrange scoffs. "So he persists. Why don't you lick the shoes yourself? You are no one's better here and if anyone's to kneel and—" he suddenly trails off.

Something is off about the whole situation. Why are they suddenly noticing that there is something completely different about Hadrian? Why does his smile chill their bones? Why was it bloody hard to breathe?

'They've finally realised that he isn't prey like they'd first thought.' Orion thinks. 'Instead, in his eyes they are. Well, most of them that is. Huh, I knew there was something more than meets the eye with Peverell, I just didn't know it was this.'

"Lick my boots or else." Hadrian says this looking directly at Tom.

There's a tense stretch of silence. Then—  
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're threatening me." Tom says, very quietly. But everyone can hear him.

"Well, do you?" Hadrian asks.

"Do I know what?" 

"Know any better." 

A mild shockwave explodes from Tom, making everyone standing stumble. It blows papers and light books off tables and rips into the tapestries on the wall. The feeling of his magic drowns all the air out, and if it was hard to breath before, people are gasping for breath now.

But it only lasts for ten seconds.

A very long ten seconds if you ask Alphard Black.

Hadrian—well, Hadrian is left untouched. He is still smiling, not a hair out of place. It's unnerving.  
Tom stands, somehow managing to tower over all of them even though he isn't exactly the tallest Slytherin there is, then turns to leave the room. 

"Very well then."

Something about Hadrian's words is final, so much so that Tom's stride seems to stutter at the sound of them.

Gods damnit, who the fuck is Hadrian Peverell?

..............................

When Harry leaves Dumbledore's office, he feels himself slowly slip behind a blurry veil in his mindscape. He's in control of his movements, completely lucid, but he can't control the direction of his thoughts.

All he can think about now is getting his retribution.  
This thing of not being aware of his surroundings is a big issue, because Harry hadn't seen the chickens that had been hung over his bed. Well, he had, but hadn't really noticed them.  
He'd only remembered when he was painting a very incriminating picture of his roommates to Dumbledore.

But still, he'd thought perhaps his thoughts would lead him to something Slytherin, something subtle, something that would take Riddle and his gang by surprise, something they wouldn't see coming.  
Instead he just declared war on all of them. 

It was disgustingly Griffindor, but also brilliantly Slytherin at the same time. 

Why? Because Harry had unnerved Riddle, and it had been painted all over his face, plain as the day for everyone to see. He'd shaken the unshakable one by challenging him and shrugging at his impressive display of magic. And now his gang would no longer think of him as this great undefeated thing, they would not trust him as they did before, which means there will be plenty of mistakes for Harry to take advantage of. 

This felt like the mischief Hanibalo spoke of. This was a game, and it made Harry's heart skip a beat in euphoric excitement.

Fuck.

Gods.

Why were things escalating so quickly? The plot just fucken thickened so early in the story. What the fuck was actually going on with him?

Yeah he'd figured sometimes he'd do things like Adomaitis, but he didn't think that the two of them would literally become the same person in a matter of hours. Harry hadn't ever thought like a Slytherin. And if he had, the thoughts had quickly turned Griffindor in nature. He was reckless to the bone.

But Adomaitis is a somewhere in the middle, at least from what he's seen so far. He makes contingency plans before diving head first into a dangerous situation.

Maybe...maybe Adomaitis has never done something like this before and this is a Harry-maitis thing?

He knows, that as these thoughts run through his brain at lightning speed, the unnerving smile he'd let curl on his lips is still there.

Okay, Harry, calm down. We'll freaked out later.

He looks around the room, and find that everyone's still staring at him. 

Then a prefects badge catches his attention.

"You," he points. "what's your name?"

The boy swallows painfully, but manages to speak without his voice cracking. "Jugson Davis."

"The Head-Boy, right?" At the others nod, he continues. "You'll be sleeping on my bed from now on."

The boy nods shakily before leaving the common room quickly.

"What are you all gaping at?" He asks the room at large, amused as fuck. 

There's a breif scurry where everyone starts picking their things from the floor and others repair the walls and paintings. The common room is back to its former look in just a few minutes.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Orion asks casually as he walks up to him.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Black?"

"The sorting hat told me I was born without any, fortunately." The fourteen year old says, dryly.  
Harry moves towards the fireplace, sitting on the chair Riddle previously occupied.

"You're really going to die."

"Orion, I know what I'm doing." Harry lies through his teeth.

"You just challenged the King. You have no allies, no understanding of Slytherin politics, far too little blackmail to really get you anywhere. What were you thinking?" The other boy asks, taking one of the love seats.

"I was thinking that I won't let anyone walk all over me just because they think they can. And I have you."

Orion sighs. "I'm serious, Peverell. They're going to crush you."

"No, they won't. This is not the first time I've found myself in bind, I like the challenge. Plus, I'm not afraid of a bunch of boys who amount to nothing without thier family names."

Orion gives him a long look, before saying—

"So what's your plan then?"

Harry smirks. "Does that mean you're on my side."

"Don't make me regret this, Peverell." Orion almost groans out.

"Call me Harry."

Orion raises a brow at him. "Alright, Harry."

..............................


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. So I'm depending heavily on Wikipedia for some things that I don't know, but I hope you enjoy the chapter, even though the cliffhanger is somewhat shitty.
> 
> You're allowed to skip the long ass lesson on history or Dumbledore's class, but I suggest you don't. It's interesting and I might reference alot from what I read when Harry delves deeper into Necromancy and Death Magic.
> 
> The Room refers to a secret room in the Slytherin dorms where they all gather to practice dark hexes and curses.

Before Harry can say anything esle, Eileen takes the seat opposite to Orion's.

"Whatever the two of you are scheming, I want in on it."

Harry shares a glance with Orion. "This might all blow up in our faces."

"Oh please Black, it's not like it'll make me anymore of an outcast than I already am." She turns to look at Harry. "I'm good at potions, I mean really good. I know how to play people, mostly because they say incriminating things when I'm around. They tend to overlook my existence."

"I want in as well." A blonde boy says, leaning on Orion's love seat. "It seems like there's more to you than meets the eye. I'ven waiting patiently for the day someone would knock Riddle down a peg. He rubs me the wrong way. Loiros Greengrass, at your service."

"And I." Another boy says, sitting down next to Eileen. "Acwel Parkinson. I've heard many great things about you, Adomaitis Danilewicz."

"Really? It's only been a few hours Parkinson." Eileen says.

Harry looks at Eileen. "Already tattled?"

"The tension in here was getting on my nerves. Plus, I wanted to see them all fall over trying to kiss your arse."

"I haven't told anyone yet, if it bothers you." Acwel says.

"It doesn't matter to me what they think. They're not going to underestimate me either way." Harry turns to Orion. "What did you say about me not having allies again?"

...................................

Harry is a corner away from reaching the Head Boys quarters when he bumps into Slughorn.

"Mr Peverell, was there anything you needed from Mr Davis?"

"Oh no, Professor. I'm just here to leave my things. Jugson was kind enough to exchange his living space with mine. The other's...didn't take well to my presence. He hoped some distance would help somewhat ease the tension amongst us."

Slughorn frowns. "So Albus was right? I'd thought perhaps he was exaggerating about this. Do you need me to interfere?"

"I'm alright Professor, the moment I feel truly unsafe, I will let you know. Then and only then will I allow action to be taken against them. As of now, I'd rather not make my stay here any more uncomfortable than it already is."

"Well I'm glad Mr. Davis is being helpful. But those are the headboys quarters."

"Unless you have a better alternative sir, I think should stay here."

Slughorn doesn't seem happy about it, but he agrees. "Very well. I'll have to speak to Albus about organising something more permanent, but in the meantime stay there. I'll have to award Mr. Davis greatly for this."

"Is that all Professor Slughorn?"

"Yes, you may go back to whatever you were doing my boy."

Harry gives him an insincere smile, before turning the corner and entering the room. He closes the door behind and gives the whole place a long look.

It's larger than Petunia's living room for one, probably two or three times so. There's a desk by the window, which Harry might be bothered to use, a large king-sized bed by the corner, a door that leads to the toilet on his right, and a wardrobe on the wall on his left. There's a fire place just by the corner of the door and kitchenette of some sorts on the opposite end, which looks to be filled to the brim with snacks beverages and such.

To be Head Boy.

A goal short term goal perhaps?

Oh, but he's getting ahead of himself. It's pretty obvious Adomaitis is smart, it's much easier to process and make sense of things that would've had his brain in knots if he'd tried before. Not to say that he was Stupid, Harry had just never been academically inclined. He's hoping that'll at least be different, with the new brain and all.

Everything is green and grey, mostly. The carpet is emerald, and fluffy. (Maybe he can bring his pillows out here). The walls are a dark grey that's almost black, and the curtains are a forest green. 

It's all just... fancy. And it needs another colour besides green. 

But then again, he won't be here long. 

"Okay, Death. This," he gestures at his body. "conversation is getting old."

Wierd how he doesn't feel crazy speaking to the empty room.

"Quite a show you put up."

Harry doesn't startle. He doesn't. It's just not everyday you turn around and there's an ancient looking old woman suddenly there when there was just air a moment ago.

"That show was—" 

"Very much unlike you, yes. I noticed."

"Why the fuck was it?"

Death narrows his eyes at him, but not in annoyance. It's seems like she's (?), errh, h—its looking at something in him that he can't see.

"Well, it's seems like dampening your emotions wasn't such a bright idea."

He looks at it's face, and there's something there because he says "I don't feel like a psychopath."

"That's the first thing a psychopath would say."

"Well I'm not."

"Harry, emotions more often than not control your reactions. Some people are good at separating the two, others just can't, but you're an anomaly. I've never done this before, so I'm discovering things just as you are.  
Dampening your emotions left some sort of hole in your..uh you. And the body tried to fill that hole with something familiar, something it was used to."

"So you're saying Adomaitis was a psychopath?"

"Something like that."

"So now I'm a psychopath because I'm in his body." Harry says blankly.

"No, no you aren't a psychopath Harry. I dampened your emotions, I didn't completely move them. The two personalities just melded."

Harry thinks about it for a second.

"I still don't get it though."

"And I don't know how to explain it in a way you'll understand." Death says, sighing. "How about you look at it this way. You are a lemon, that body is water, and together you make lemonade."

"You forgot the sugar." Harry grumbles. "But I think I get the gist of it, there's no way to completely get it what with your shallow explanation." 'Basically what I'm getting from all this is that I'm two steps away from being a psychopath.' He thinks, venomously.

Death seems to want to say something, but doesn't. Probably a bad joke.

"This goes against everything I had planned. I was supposed to stay under the radar, but now I've probably even changed the course of history. I know Tom, he's going to obssess over me until I'm dead or he is. He might not even make the hocrux."

"That's all very possible." Death mutters. "But the reason Tom Riddle makes hocruxes in every reality is because something reminds him of his mortality."

"So I should scare him to death and that'll lead him in the direction we want him in?"

"I'm not supposed to help you with everything, remember? This is your adventure, not mine."  
And then it's gone.

"I wouldn't need your help if you didn't monumentally fuck things for me."

He takes out his shrunken trunk from his pocket and puts it at the foot of his bed. What to do now? Yes, there's some Necromancy he needs to read up on.

...................

"Avery! Wait up."

Cetus slows down, turning to glare at Ophiuchus. "What do you want?" 

"What was that back there?" The Mulciber heir asks.  
"Be more specific." He drawls out, annoyed.

"You couldn't wait to rush out of The Room. In fact, you didn't look like you wanted to be there the whole time. It's because of Peverell, isn't it? You're afraid of him aren't you?" The other sneers out.

"Only an imbecile wouldn't."

"Your the imbecile for—"

"For what? Thinking he's a great threat?" Cetus asks. "I can sense magic Mulciber, not as well as Tom can, but I can sense it. I couldn't even feel a whiff of Peverell's around him when he was threatening us."

"So?" 

"So?" Cetus asks, incredulously. " Do you even know what that means? The control it must take to have such a tight grip on your magic, even when faced with a threat? He's got exceptional control, more so than Tom if that's even possible. Do you know how powerful that means he is?"

"Maybe he's a squib." The other counters, weakly.

Cetus snorts in derision. "Yes, that must be it." 

Then he turns around and starts walking again.

"Tom's not going to be happy about this sort of behaviour if it persists."

"Look, Ophiuchus. We've known each other since we were toddlers, so heed my warning. Things around here are about to change, I can feel it in my bones. Better be sure you're aligned with whoever makes it to the top."

"Are you possibly suggesting that that mudblood will become King?" He asks, aghast.

"No, I'm saying it's very possible. He doesn't seem like a the kind to make idle threats."

"You swore you'd be loyal to Tom's cause, even if it killed you."

Cetus sighs. "Just, take care of yourself."

Cetus isn't a coward, he isn't. But every bone is his body is telling him this situation won't end the way they want it to.

............................

'Necromancy

/ˈnɛkrəmænsi/ is a practice of magic involving communication with the dead – either by summoning their spirits as apparitions or raising them bodily – for the purpose of divination, imparting the means to foretell future events, discover hidden knowledge, to bring someone back from the dead, or to use the dead as a weapon. Sometimes referred to as "Death Magic", the term may also sometimes be used in a more general sense to refer to black magic or witchcraft.

The word "necromancy" is adapted from Late Latin necromantia, itself borrowed from post-Classical Greek νεκρομαντεία (nekromanteía), a compound of Ancient Greek νεκρός (nekrós), "dead body", and μαντεία (manteía), "divination by means of"; this compound form was first used by Origen of Alexandria in the 3rd century AD. 

The Classical Greek term was ἡ νέκυια (nekyia), from the episode of the Odyssey in which Odysseus visits the realm of the dead and νεκρομαντεία in Hellenistic Greek, rendered as necromantīa in Latin, and as necromancy in 17th-century English.'

Harry hums in interest. 

'Many medieval writers believed that actual resurrection required the assistance of God. They saw the practice of necromancy as conjuring demons who took the appearance of spirits. The practice became known explicitly as maleficium, and the Catholic Church condemned it. 

Though the practitioners of necromancy were linked by many common threads, there is no evidence that these necromancers ever organized as a group. One noted commonality among practitioners of necromancy was usually the utilization of certain toxic and hallucinogenic plants from the nightshade family such as black henbane, jimson weed, belladonna or mandrake. Usually in magic salves or potions.

Medieval necromancy is believed to be a synthesis of astral magic derived from Arabic influences and exorcism derived from Christian and Jewish teachings. Arabic influences are evident in rituals that involve moon phases, sun placement, day and time. Fumigation and the act of burying images are also found in both astral magic and necromancy. Christian and Jewish influences appear in the symbols and in the conjuration formulas used in summoning rituals.

Practitioners were often members of the Christian clergy, though some nonclerical practitioners are recorded. In some instances, mere apprentices or those ordained to lower orders dabbled in the practice. They were connected by a belief in the manipulation of spiritual beings – especially demons – and magical practices. These practitioners were almost always literate and well educated. Most possessed basic knowledge of exorcism and had access to texts of astrology and of demonology. 

Clerical training was informal and university-based education rare. Most were trained under apprenticeships and were expected to have a basic knowledge of Latin, ritual and doctrine. This education was not always linked to spiritual guidance and seminaries were almost non-existent. This situation allowed some aspiring clerics to combine Christian rites with occult practices despite its condemnation in Christian doctrine.

Medieval practitioners believed they could accomplish three things with necromancy: will manipulation, illusions, and knowledge:

Will manipulation affects the mind and will of another person, animal, or spirit. Demons are summoned to cause various afflictions on others, "to drive them mad, to inflame them to love or hatred, to gain their favor, or to constrain them to do or not do some deed.  
Illusions involve reanimation of the dead or conjuring food, entertainment, or a mode of transportation.  
Knowledge is allegedly discovered when demons provide information about various things. This might involve identifying criminals, finding items, or revealing future events.

The act of performing medieval necromancy usually involved magic circles, conjurations, and sacrifices such as those shown in the Munich Manual of Demonic Magic.

Circles were usually traced on the ground, though cloth and parchment were sometimes used. Various objects, shapes, symbols, and letters may be drawn or placed within that represent a mixture of Christian and occult ideas. Circles were believed to empower and protect what was contained within, including protecting the necromancer from the conjured demons.

—Conjuration is the method of communicating with the demons to have them enter the physical world. It usually employs the power of special words and stances to call out the demons and often incorporated the use of Christian prayers or biblical verses. These conjurations may be repeated in succession or repeated to different directions until the summoning is complete.—

Sacrifice was the payment for summoning; though it may involve the flesh of a human being or animal, it could sometimes be as simple as offering a certain object. Instructions for obtaining these items were usually specific. The time, location, and method of gathering items for sacrifice could also play an important role in the ritual.

The rare confessions of those accused of necromancy suggest that there was a range of spell casting and related magical experimentation. It is difficult to determine if these details were due to their practices, as opposed to the whims of their interrogators. John of Salisbury is one of the first examples related by Richard Kieckhefer, but as a Parisian ecclesiastical court record of 1323 shows, a "group who were plotting to invoke the demon Berich from inside a circle made from strips of cat skin" were obviously participating in what the Church would define as "necromancy".

Herbert Stanley Redgrove claims necromancy as one of three chief branches of medieval ceremonial magic, alongside black magic and white magic. This does not correspond to contemporary classifications, which often conflate "nigromancy" ("black-knowledge") with "necromancy" ("death-knowledge")—'

"What's that you got there?"

Fuck, Orion.

Harry looks up. "What are you doing in my room, Orion?"

"It's actually Jugson's room." The other says with a smirk.

"But that's not what we should be focusing on. What is that?" He asks, fully coming into the room.

Why doesn't he bother to knock. It's unbelievablely rude.

"You forget your place." Harry says, smirking.

"And what is my place exactly?" He asks, walking up to Harry's desk and leaning on it.

"I don't actually know what it is. What is your place Orion?"

"My place is at your side, as your ally and equal."

Harry hums neutrally. It serves him well that Orion thinks they're eqauls.

"Is that—"

"Yes," Harry says, looking down at the thick tome.

Orion gives him an incredulous look. "You just bought this book into the school? Of your own will? And you're reading it in here without even locking the door!?"

"Careful, Orion. Your Pureblood mask is slipping, as they so like to say."

"I'm serious, Hadrian. Your recklessness will get you in a lot of trouble one day. You can't read—"

"It's muggle, alright." Harry huffs out, lying out of his teeth. "There's nothing actually evil about this. It's just the history of Necromancy."

"Regardless of that fact, do you know what will happen if anyone finds out you're reading about it? It's not just a dark art, it's not even considered the darkest. It's Black Arts, Hadrian. Worse than Soul Magic."

Honestly, is he even a Black?

"It's a good thing no one knows about this besides you then."

"That just means I'm going down with you then, because I'm not reporting you."

"We're allies, Orion. There should be no secrets between allies."

"I can't believe this." Orion groans out, Pureblood mask completely thrown out the window. "You're not even the slightest bit concerned."

Took you long enough to figure it out.

Harry almost rolls his eyes. It's very hard not to. "I didn't know you were such a motherhen. I've been studying Necromancy since before I could read properly."

Orion blinks at him in shock. "Your parents probably persuaded you, didn't they? Are they the ones that put you up to this?"

"Gods, Circe and Merlin's balls. I'll drop it then if you shut up." He slams the book shut. "But you have to understand—"

"I don't need to understand anything." 

Because you don't understand.

Harry glares at him grumpily. "Alright." 

Orion's concern is refreshing, almost like Hermione's, but it's also slightly annoying. 

No! No! Not slightly, it's completely annoying and maybe I should to— "My family is hosting a Royal Ball this Friday. You and the others are welcome to come if you like." Harry says, after clearing his throat. What the hell was that?

"A Royal Ball?" Orion repeats, eyes wide.

"Yes, Orion, a Royal Ball. But it's nothing special."

"I've never been to a Royal Ball."

"Really? You've never been invited to the Queen's Balls?"

"The Queen is muggle."

"Yes, I know. But I was under the impression that you took an active role in muggle politics. The name Black isn't just wizarding, it's found on the British House of Lords as well, which I found rather funny. Why is it the Potter name was removed from the Sacred Twenty Eight for being common in the muggle world but the Black name wasn't? 

There are literally thousands of muggle Blacks out there. It's all very hypothetical if you ask me, because I know that whoever wrote that book was a dark wizard, and because the Potter House renounced dark magic before it became illegal you lot turned your backs on them and did something as pretty as moving them from the most prestigious Pureblood directory. They have a rich history—"

"I get your point, Hadrian. But I don't make the rules, alright."

"You could."

Orion frowns at him confusedly. "What?"

"If we're still allied this time in two years, I'll revisit the topic. Right now, you need to focus on what I told you.

It's called the Maniškis Ball, literally translating to 'Mine'. Very idiotic if you ask me, but it's been around for 700 years now and my father is a traditionalist despite what my grandmother will say. Basically everyone mingles, insults the lesser, make subtle and passive aggressive digs at each other, simper at my brother's feet, cower away from my dark presence, it's all very useless if you ask me. 

I tolerate it because of the food and games."

"Games?"

"Games." Harry says, not elaborating. He doesn't know what these games are either. It's Adomaitis' personality and memories on the forefront at the moment. He can't make sense of it.

Orion smiles, perhaps for the first time since they met.  
"I can't wait for it."

............................

Harry doesn't feel so good the next day. 

At fucking all.

It started after breakfast, and he's just been feeling off ever since.

Hopefully, he'll be able to see the current Medi-Witch to find out what's wrong with him. But first he has to get through Dumbledore's interesting transfigurations lesson.

"—ell's sake I'll be talking a bit about what we covered and are to cover during your seven years here at Hogwarts.

Currently, Transfiguration is divided into four branches. In these main four branches there are also sub-branches, such as human Transfiguration and Switching, which would be in the branch of Transformation. They are, in ascending order of difficulty—Transformation, Untransfiguration, Vanishment, and Conjuration.

Transformation refers to any Transfiguration that deforms or alters the target in some way.

This branch of transfiguration was the first covered during everyones first year, and it contained simple transfigurations such as turning a match to a needle.  
Transformation is divided into three sub-types, each with their own divisions and all of which overlap with one another to some degree.

They are Human Transfiguration. Human Transfiguration is a sub-branch of Transfiguration and a form of transformation in which one transfigures human body parts or an entire human being into another form. This branch is more difficult than any other and is only taught at N.E.W.T.-level. One of the spells learned in sixth year here at Hogwarts is the transfiguration of the colour of one's eyebrows. That spell is Crinus Muto.

I trust you boys won't use the spell to play rude pranks on your colleagues." He says, addressing the Griffindor's.

"Many general human Transfiguration spells exist, this category houses the types of Transformation magic such as Animagus, a wizard that elects to turn into an animal, Metamorphmagus which is a rare ability to change physical appearance at will, and werewolves, they however have no choice.

The next is Untransfiguration. Untransfiguration is the art of reversing a previous transfiguration, being therefore considered both a transfiguration and a counter-spell. It is a mysterious branch of transfiguration. Untransfiguration must always be learner before attempting human Transfiguration, a necessary precaution if you ask me.

'Reparifarge' is a general spell used to counter the effects of a Transformation spell that was poorly performed and only partially transfigured the object in question. This spell is covered in A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, I think you should take a look at it Mr Peverell, if you hadn't already learnt about it.

Switching is another sub-type of transformation magic. During switching, a physical feature from one of the two targets is switched with that of another, hence the name. It differs from a straight transformation in two ways: firstly, switching targets two objects s— Yes, Mr Peverell?"

"Could I be excused Professor?"

"Is something the matter my boy? You're looking a bit peaky."  
Obviously, you goat. 

"I think I need to go to the see a healer."

Dumbledore gives him a sympathetic look. He reluctantly turns to Tom and says, "If you would escort him Mr Riddle."

"Of course, Professor."

Harry stands, moaning silently at the loss of a chance to hear more. Transfigurations had never been this interesting with McGonagall, loath he admit it, Dumbledore was captivating as a teacher. He made it seem effortless, and he was easy to understand and follow.

Riddle walks closely to him, sliding his arm around his waist when it seems like he's going to fall over.

Then after nothing but the sound of their shoes fills the silence Tom stops.

"You shouldn't have waited to so long. You aren't going to make it to the Medi-Witch alive."  
"What?" Harry asks, starting to sweat.  
Tom lays him down by the wall, very gently, very carefully. It's so unlike him, that Harry almost can't breath. 

No, no he just can't breath properly anymore.

"If you'd just gone the moment you felt ill, maybe you'd have survived. But instead you thought—"

"You poisoned me, didn't you?" Harry accuses more than asks, not even acting surprised. He'd underestimated Tom.

"Indirectly, yes." And then he smiles, a beautiful smile. "Say hello to Death for me."

And then everything goes dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new chapter. I hope you enjoy it. It doesn't have much substance, I'm really going to let Tom freak out on the next chapter, which I've already started on.
> 
> It's my boyfriend's birthday tomorrow, I have no idea what to get him. So I've been freaking out since I got the reminder on my calendar. I mean, I'd dedicate the chapter to him but he doesn't know Harry Potter which is totally blasphemous, and he's a legit author and his stuff is actually fucking good. So that's a no. Wish me luck😥😣.

He hears chuckling before he can even fully understand where he is.

  
"Riddle told me to say hello to you." He almost groans out when he's met with King's Cross Station again.

  
"Tell him not to worry, he'll be able to greet me himself soon."

  
Harry clenches his jaw in annoyance, feeling anger curling up his insides. "What happened? How did he manage to do me in?" He snaps.

  
"Well, he went into the Room of Requirements, after requesting a warded room, and summoned a house elf, which he cast the imperious curse on.

The house elf got an alarming amount of cyanide and put it in all of your foods, even in your room. I'm talking about everything down to your teabags and even the food you consumed during breakfast this morning."

  
Harry shakes his head in confusion. "Why didn't my Lordship Rings pick up on this?"

"Well, because those idiot wizards don't really know how dangerous cyanide is, not like the muggles do. You consume cyanide sometimes Harry, it's in apples. The rings failed to pick it up as a threat, especially because it hadn't hurt you before and well, I guess here we are now. Tom managed to use the ultimate loophole."

  
"He covered all his tracks, I'm sure of it. More than half of the Slytherin House wanted me dead, which will make for a long and tedious investigation. The Auras will ask the wrong questions, and he'll get away with it, especially because he didn't kill me directly." He says, closing his eyes and taking a long deep breath. "I suppose the missions over with then?"

  
"Not quite." Death says. "There are...certain liberties that come with Mastering my Hallows."

  
Harry looks at it. "Which are?"

  
"You become the Master of Death."  
Omnious.

  
He turns around fully to face it now. "What does that even mean?" He growls out.

  
"Exactly what it sounds like, Master."  
Harry blinks, once, twice. Why his brain suddenly took that direction, especially with Death like a decrepit old bitch, he'll never know or even think about again. "Why the are you telling me this now?"

  
"I'd thought perhaps you'd figure it out. But I guess you don't think about me that much." It drawls out." You can't seriously think I grant just anyone the boons I granted you."

  
"No, of course not. But I've learned to ignore my Potter luck, and my life. Wierd things happen all the time."

  
Death shakes it head in wonder. "I can't argue with that."

  
"So, I can go back?"

  
"Yes, you can." Death answers. "You'll feel like shit, but a trip to the infirmary will fix you up good in no time."

  
"And Tom?"

  
"He's just left for class since your heart stopped beating, at least, according to him. His lies are impressive."

  
Harry smirks a bit.

  
Oh Tom, you've done it now.

..............................

'This is what I live for.' Tom thinks.  
Watching the life getting snuffed out of an annoying pest—Gods, there's nothing quite as satisfying or even euphoric as that.

Of course Peverell wasn't a pest like the Riddles and the Gaunts (who he promised to thoroughly kill this coming summer), he was—

  
Tom settles into his seat.

  
Peverell is—was an admirable foe, no doubt about that. Despite what the others think he wasn't just all bark. There'd been a reflection of Tom's own eyes when the fool had stared him down, and Tom is very much ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he'd felt an unexpected and intense burst of arousal when Peverell had ordered him to lick his boots. 

  
Thinking it didn't help stave off the disgusting feeling.

  
He'd looked like an Angel of Death, staring Tom down as if they were eqauls. It was refreshing. The reason his neither regions had swelled unwillingly is that—

  
It was also brave, very Griffindorish if you looked at it from the surface, but Tom is adapt at deciphering transparent actions and he'd caught on to exactly what Peverell was planning. Smart, he'll give him that.

  
Also dangerous.

  
But also fucking attractive. There was a beautiful dangerous mind, and Tom couldn't let him live.

  
Which is why he'd gone for the kill...literally. Peverell wasn't like the boys that bullied him back at the orphanage, he wasn't like the Seventh years that tormented him most of his first and second year, he was a Beast, a great hulking Beast, different from the serpent Tom knew that he himself is, and so Tom, like a snake, took him down before he could bare his fangs. (He isn't considered the brightest of his generation for nothing). 

"Mr. Riddle, were you able to get Mr. Peverell to the infirmary?"

  
"He insisted he could get there of his efforts, Sir." Tom answers smoothly.

  
"Did you at least give him directions?"

  
"Yes, Sir."

  
"Very well then." Dumbledore says, after a long pause.

  
Another problem there. This... man's suspicion of him. Tom doesn't appreciate it, not one bit. It makes getting away with things hard, especially because Dumbledore always thinks the worst of him, and always seems to know that something is his fault.  
He's probably going to think Tom somehow has something to do with P—

  
"—everall?"

  
"I'm alright Professor Dumbledore. Healer Chang said it was only an upset stomach."

  
Tom gasps and chokes on his spit.  
He actually fucking chokes on his fucking spit.

  
Then he coughs loudly, unable to help himself, embarrassingly enough. Gods, he can feel his face heating up. The fucking Knights are staring at him. Fucking look away you idiots, he tries to project with his glare. But it doesn't work, his eyes are watering from the fucking coughing.

Fuck.

  
"Are you alright, Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore asks, reluctantly..

  
"I'm-" cough "alright-" cough "Professor."

  
"Take your seat then, Mr. Peverell."

For the rest of the lesson, Tom's entire being radiates nervous energy. He can't help it.  
How?

  
HOW!?! 

  
How the fuck was he still alive?

  
He'd made sure, he'd made a hundred and ten percent sure that damn house elf did everything he cursed it to.

He watched Peverell dig into his breakfast this morning, not even realising his food tasted different, and yes, it was very wierd that it took him that long to start to start getting sick, but gods he'd been sure Peverell was a goner.

There's absolutely no way he could've gotten up from the floor, and made it to the infirmary, not when he could barely walk and even if a student somehow helped him, he was already dead when Tom left him on the floor. 

  
This was impossible, it was fucking impossible.

  
WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?

  
Never, in all his life, has Tom been this scared. It's different, from hearing Air Raids the whole night, bombs going off every now and again. This is like seeing a ghost, Death boring his enteral gaze into his own mortal existence and gods, he'd admitted to playing a hand in poisoning Peverell. What was he going to do? Was he going to get Tom expelled? Or arrested? 

  
FUCK.

  
"—Mr. Riddle? Are you alright?"

  
"I'm fine, Sir." Tom says, his voice cracking a bit.

  
"Well, the lesson ended a minute ago." Dumbledore says slowly.

  
Tom nods, before standing up. He grabs his books and shoves them haphazardly into his book bag before tearing out of the class.

  
Just when he closes the door, a hand reaches around his tie and he's pulled into facing Avarda green eyes. Peverell is watching him, blankly, hands fisted around his shirt. Tom wants to be angry, but he can't seem to swallow down the lump in his throat.

  
"Death told me, and I quote 'Tell him not to worry, he'll be able to greet me himself soon'."

  
......

  
.....

  
....

  
..

  
.

  
Tom's breath hitches, and gods he almost coughs again. He didn't survive? He died?!? He died and somehow came back to life?! What magic did he use? A hocrux? No, no, it didn't work like that! How is it possible? And he met death?

  
He clears his throat. "What game are you playing at?" He asks, proud his voice doesn't waver even a little, but also mad that his bladder wants to stop working.

  
Fuck me! He screams in head. Oh Peverell was going to pay. Tom swore it on his life.

  
"Watch your back." Peverell says, eyes and expression unnervingly blank.

  
And then he's gone.

  
"Watch yours too Peverell. This time you'll stay dead."

  
..............................

  
"Wait, you're saying he almost killed you?"

  
"Yes." Harry nods. "It was real creative too."

  
Orion sighs. "If I'd known that allying myself with you would be so annoying..."

  
"You still would've done it." Harry says, absolutely sure. "Eventually."

  
Orion just shakes his head in exasperation. "How the hell did you survive?"

  
"I always carry a bezoar around with me."

  
"That's not normal."

  
"Well, it is when you're playing the game of thrones. I've been poisoned many times before, so I've taken to carrying a bezoar around with me. I don't fancy going to see a healer so frequently."

  
"Am I in danger of being caught in the crossfire?"

  
"Alot, yes." Harry says, grinning broadly.

  
Another sigh.

  
"So what now? Are you going to kill him? Ruin all his future job prospects? Burn down his home?"

  
"No," Harry says, pondering on it. "That seems like a complete waste of my efforts and connections. I need to destroy him, so completely, make an example of him so everyone knows not to mess with me. Everyone being a certain sort."

  
"How are you going to do that?"

  
Harry smiles broadly, finger on tapping his chin. "I'm going to make him loose everything."

  
"Get him expelled and his wand snapped?"

  
"Eventually." Harry's drawls. "First I'm going to make him go insane. Then I'm going to make his life hell, and then, and only then, will I have him taken out of our world, with his memories in tact of course. I want him to live the rest of his life knowing he messed with the wrong person."

..........................

  
"You're not actually going to do that right?" Deaths says, the moment Orion leaves. 

  
"Why shouldn't I?"

  
"Have you forgetten what you're here to do? You want to save Tom Riddle's soul... Master." The being reminds, saying the last word reluctantly.

  
Harry gives it an odd look. "Yes, I suppose."

  
"That body is really fucking with you, isn't it? You've gone full psycho on me."

  
"I guess you only have yourself to blame." Harry snaps. "Either way, what even is the moral of this story? I'm saving the Tom Riddle of my world, giving him a chance. But what about this little psychopath? Or the next one who's soul piece I steal? What happens to them?"

  
"Well, you should've thought about that before you started this whole thing."

  
"You're the one that put the idea in my head!" Harry almost screams out. "Why am I even helping him? What do I owe to Riddle but a miserable existence. That little shit ruined my life, he took everything from me. So many people died, my mum, my dad, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, the list goes on.

He killed me. Twice. And for what? Nothing. He's the biggest fucking hypocrite piece of shit to ever grace this Earth."

  
"Maybe dampening your emotions was a good idea. You've somehow managed to throw off your rather impressive guilt complex.

But your anger is somewhat righteous, although incredibly overdue. I told you there was no going back. Your body is nothing but a corpse now, feeding the maggots and enrichening the very Earth that gave you life."

  
Harry groans loudly, feeling the anger drain out of him. Gods, he loves this body. Things are so simple. Usually it takes him hours and destroyed property to ease his anger.

  
"Morbid sonavabitch." Harry grumbles, laying on his bed. "I want to see my parents. I want to know what they'll think about this...mess. Can you somehow summon their souls so I can talk to them?"

  
"You need only think of them."

Skeptical, but Harry closes his eyes, and thinks of Lilly and James Potter. He feels the air shift, three times anticlockwise, and then opens his eyes.

  
"Hello, Harry." Lilly Potter stares at him, a faint smile on her lips.

  
She's beautiful.

  
He breaths out. Don't get overwhelmed.

  
"Mum. Dad." It's like everything is rushing back to him. His feelings.

  
"Son." James greets.

  
"I don't know what to do." He says, feeling a bit defeated. "I don't know how things got so messed up so quickly."

  
"It's the Potter Luck son. Fucking terrible family curse."

  
"Language." Lilly nags. "But I've got to agree with James. You Potters have it bad."

  
"Aren't you a Potter too, love?" James whines.

  
"Only in name." Lilly says, playfully.

  
"Harsh." 

  
"Stop your whining. Our son needs us."

  
Fuck, they'd died so young. Looking at them hurt.

  
"Right. So you're in a bit of pickle Harry." James says. "In a whole new dimension. You're in the body of a mini-psycho, who's part of a psycho family—"

  
"Be serious, James!"

  
"I'm being serious love. He's fucked." 

  
Lilly slaps him over the head, looking long-suffering. "Grow the fuck up."

  
"Language." James teases. 

  
Lilly rolls her eyes, but there's a tiny besotted smile on her lips. "What your father was getting to is that you need get your shit— ugh, um, stuff together love. Tom Riddle's mistakes aren't your own. And yes, he deserves a chance, but Harry no one would blame you if you weren't the one to give it to him. He ruined your life."

  
Harry keeps quiet, watching as that statement darkens both their expressions.

James blows up a moment later.

  
"Thoroughly fucked it up." James growls. "Then there's other fuckers like Tunie. I can't wait for that bitch to get here. She's in for it."

  
"I thought we'd agreed I'm having a go at her first." Lilly growls. 

  
"I let you have Dumbleshit all to yourself!" 

  
"But when I let you have Sirius you half arsed it."

  
"Sirius eventually—"

  
"No, James. We left him as Harry's godfather, and he got himself arrested instead of taking care of our son. Then he only escaped Azkaban for revenge! All that time—" she stops abruptly, mad as a Hatter. "I hate him the most."

  
It sounds like an ongoing argument, one they just can't seem to lay to rest. Harry wonders about Sirius sometimes too. What would've happened? Would he have been exonerated? No, probably not. He'd grown reckless towards the end, always itching for a fight. He hadn't really cared about Harry enough to want to live for him.

And he'd always seen James Potter instead of just Harry. 

  
Everyone fucking did. 

  
"Lilly." James admonishes.

  
"Let's not forget that gaggle of redheads."

  
"Mum." Harry says, surprised. "The Weasleys were nothing but kind to me."

  
"Please." She snarls. Guess that's where he gets his temper from. "Harry, they knew what my sister and her walrus of a husband were doing to you. They did nothing more than the bare minimum.

No one truly did anything! No one cared about you at a certain point. It was the most heartbreaking thing for a parent to watch. I can only imagine how that made you feel."

  
She looks fucking wrecked when she says—"If there's one thing I regret, then it's dying. I shouldn't have died. We shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry Harry, I'm so fucking sorry."

  
James adds. "We should've left Britain, changed our names, done more. I think it didn't really click in our heads how dangerous it was, having you during those times, barely out of school, young and stupid. We weren't ready to be parents, I know there's never really a time, but we weren't, not even a bit. You paid the price for it, and I'll never forgive myself for that.

I'm sorry too, son. I know it's not much, and it's useless now after so long, but if I could go back right now, knowing what I know, I'd have even willingly joined Voldemort to keep you safe. I'd have done anything. Loosing my life the way I did, it was way too fucking easy, I should've done more."

It's like a huge weight is slowly being lifted from his shoulders the more they talk, he doesn't even realise he's crying until some wounded sound leaves his mouth.

Gids, he never cries. Does it always feel this shity.

  
He'd always wondered, deep deep inside, why it seemed like no one really cared beyond the surface. Because who had ever helped Harry? No, truly. Who had ever helped him out of the goodness of their heart, besides Dobby (who he loves to death)? 

  
No one.

  
Hearing that his parents regretted so much and were angry on his behalf—it helped resolve alot of the clusterfuck of insecurities inside him. It helped make him realise he wasn't being petty or selfish or bratty. 

  
He'd been well and truly fucked. Never really loved.

  
It hurt to acknowledge it, but it helped that he could see the remorse in his parents eyes, the same eyes that were trying to drown him in love.

  
He laughed a little, still crying though. 

  
"Thank you." He says, wiping his snotty nose.

  
"Whatever you decide to do, you have our support." James says. "I'm so fucking proud. You'd be a Dark Lord hellbent on conquering the world and I'd still be proud, still love you to death, pun intended."

  
"Can that even be considered a a pun?" Lilly grumbles under her breath. "So fuck up Tom's stay here at Hogwarts or marry the little bastard. It's all right. You deserve to give fate the middle finger, that bitch has fucked with you way too long."

  
"Your badassery is showing, muffin."

  
"Shut up or I'll knee you in the nuts, pumpkin."

  
Harry laughs again. 

  
"Thank you. I feel so much better." He says.

  
"I'm glad we could help."

  
"Son, can you do me a little favour?" James asks, smirking devilishly. "Can you get your Death friend to get us popcorn. Or general snacks. I'm really enjoying you fuck with the little Dark Lord."

  
Lilly shrugs. "An endless supply of popcorn would be nice. Maybe some lemon drops too."

  
"Are you serious?!" Harry exclaims, gwaffing.

  
They talk a bit longer, gods they're both hilarious, Harry swears he would've loved their banter. He would've grown up wanting someone to love him like they love each other, he would've grown up knowing he deserves love, and that hurts to acknowledge too.

Harry wants them to stay forever, but eventually they have to leave. 

  
Harry has to summon one last person though, the one person he's been meaning to have a chat with.

"Hello, Adomaitis."

  
There's a pause.

  
"Hello, Hadrian."

  
Harry gives him a long once over. He's fucking gorgeous, like really fucking gorgeous. It should be impossible what with him looking like a dead ghost. "You don't look so peachy."

  
"I feared I wouldn't."

  
"Are you in purgatory?"

  
"Yes." The boy answers. "I killed many peasants. Destroyed many lives too. I knew what was waiting for me in the afterlife."

  
"I—"

  
"Don't try to offer me a boon. I deserve what I'm getting."

  
Harry raises a brow at him in confusion. "You're remorseful?"

  
"I'm getting there." Adomaitis says. "The cleansing process will take more than just five months. Mostly what I feel now is thier pain and anger."

  
Harry's mouth flops like a fish as he struggles to say something.

  
"Was there something you wanted, Hadrian?" The other asks.

  
"As you can see, I'm you now. I'd like not to raise suspicion by acting differently, especially because I have to go to this Maniškis Ball this weekend."

  
"You're doing alright so far. A little less dramatic, a bit too foul mouthed but almost similar to me. You should be wary of my immediate family, my father and older brother though. My father and I are—were very close. And my brother and I were as thick as thieves."

  
"I remember some things about you sometimes." 

  
"That's too unreliable." Adomaitis says. "I have books on Pureblood etiquette in Lithuania. Read them. I follow them to the T, even when it's unnecessary."

  
"And the other texts? The Necromancy."

  
"Ah, yes. That." He says, looking surprised. "I suppose you can practice that, my father gave me permission four years ago. I was good at it, but it's what killed me in the end."

  
"Thought an anyerism is what killed you."

  
"It did. I tried too many conjuring spells. The circles always protected me from possessions or harm. But those creatures I summoned often came with...I don't know, something foul and otherworldly. Maybe only someone like yourself is allowed to dabble with the dead.

Everyone else just ends becoming one of them. Learned that the hard way." 

  
"Why the hell did your father let you practice something that dangerous? And seriously, summoning things? Demons and all that actually exist?"

  
"I'm not sure about demons, never bothered to summon them. But spirits do, and not just the kind you think I'm talking about." The other says. "You have to understand something about the Danilewicz line. It started off purely muggle, but an ancestor of mine married into it. He was the bastard son of some long dead Pureblood line. He was smart, had an army of children who he married off to minor magical lines. It was a smart, and gradual take over that had our family ruling not just the muggles but the magical community. 

  
It helped that the country was so scattered by war and whatnot, made it easier to unfuck things and really take over because we had a say in what happened in a lot of things. Ambition is our motto, my family will never just be satisfied with what they have. I came here with a plan, one that I need you to play along with for the sake of my family.

My father is kind, so they think he's weak. They'll have him moved from his seat if we don't do something completely over the top like take over Britain."

  
"You want me to take over Britain?" Harry asks, eyes wide.

  
"I just want you to make Minister of Magic. The Peverell Lordship is our triumph card, one that my family's held closely for a long time. It'll give you a foot in the door. All you need to do is cozy up to as many of these peasants as you can, and I mean the whole school. Do something great and heroic, make them all eat out of your hands. And don't flunk a single subject, or assignment, get all your professors to like you. Do all that and the rest will fall into place."

  
"That's a bit extreme." Harry says, floored. "You had to do all of this?"

  
"Yes." Adomaitis says. "Yes, I did. For my family, I'd do anything."

"I see."

  
Adomaitis just gave him a lot to think about.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets his family. There's a bit of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been gone forever and I've been wanting to post a chapter but the Inspiration just wasn't there. I've been home for a week now, trying to get something down because I've been neglecting y'all.
> 
> The situation with me is somewhat better, my family came to check up on me even though they were terrified I'd get them sick. I've been sent home again, not because I'm sick, but because the situation in the country escalated. There's been a hundred new cases just these past two weeks and the country is on complete lockdown.  
> Unfortunately a bunch of cops were killed in a horrific accident a couple days ago, the cars just blew up which was honestly just seriously fucked up.
> 
> I still feel like the world is ending and I may have severe depression and anxiety, but I'm handling it, I'm taking that much needed time to just breathe. I hope you enjoy the chapter, I've introduced a couple new characters, and I'm honestly nervous about how I've portrayed them.

The portkey activates just thirty minutes after lunch finishes. It's not quite the same time when he gets to the gates of his family's manor, what with the timelines being different and all, but Harry's adjustment nonetheless after a quick wordless warning charm.

He gets permission from Headmaster Dippet before leaving, just to be on the safer side. He doesn't really understand the whole process, having never had to leave school for something like this.

For some odd reason, he doesn't feel like vomiting his brains out when he lands. In fact, he doesn't even land on his tail bone or his spine like last time, but his two perfectly intact feet, in fact, everything, including his spleen, are in perfect condition.

There's a snap of apparation behind him, two actually, and his has his wand out before the two can react.  
"My prince?" The other mumbles out, confused. He has a thick European accent.

Harry frowns at them, taking in their very black form fitting atire. They look like asssasins.  
But they'd called him 'my prince' so maybe they know him.

"Who are you?" He asks, because, who are they.

"We are your shadows." The other answers, like he should know this.

They're both tall, and very lean, and Harry can't really tell them apart or even pick out any defining features. It's almost as if— yes, that's a very strong notice me not charm they're using.

Huh, so they shadow him around like a bunch of creeps? It makes sense, somewhat. He's a prince after all, he must need some sort of protection from assassinations and what not. Still, it's very creepy. And it's a new complication he hasn't taken into consideration.

Why hasn't Death mentioned this?

In fact, why hasn't he seen them before? Did they follow him to Hogwarts? Did they follow him around all day and shit? Did they see Tom kill him?  
No, they mustn't have. They'd have murdered Riddle or something. Unless they have an order not to interfere or something, it definitely seems like something Adomaitis would want.

"Alright." He says, giving them one last curious look.  
Luckily he's dressed warm made sure to dress warm, Lithuania isn't exactly known for its warm temperatures and a slight chill is sneaking into his frame.

Vilnius is nothing to scoff at. Harry can see it from the driveway, it looks like a blanket of snow fell upon glowing crystals, it's a beautiful city. There's a long stretch of nothing but white around him until he walks into the family wards, then it's a haven of green. Gediminas Castle doesn't quite look the same once you pass the concealment charms, there's a large rose garden that stretches as far as the eye can see, growing on the arching walls and pillars set here and there. There's a large statue by the large double doors—

Harry doesn't really feel like looking at it all, impressive as it is. 

There's a low thrum of anxiety under his skin. He's going to meet some of Ado—his family, which is a bit nerve wrecking.

Then suddenly, an arm roughly curls around his neck and his hair is violently ruffled.

"Unhand me, you brute!" He screams, having sensed no malice behind the rough treatment he's receiving.

"Vis mazasis bitch, broliukas!" Lukas says with boisterous laughter. (1)

"Hello to you too, velnias." Harry spits, shrugging off his arm. (2)

"I thought the British air, food and soil would somehow cure your foul tongue, but I suppose it was wishful thinking." Lukas says, accent heavy with their mother tongue. "Fater' and I have terribly missed yu'."

Harry feels his lips curl in annoyance, but his heart is heavy with something light (fondness, he thinks), contradictory as that may sound. It's the first time he's actually felt something good when looking at another person.

"Speaking of father, where is he?"

"In the orchids. He's been awaiting your arrival since the day began."

"He's that excited to see me?" Harry asks, brow raised.

"This is the longest you've been away from home, little brother."

Harry nods. "Right."

"Do you want to see him or Azuolus first?"  
Azuolus, yes, the last born son of Hanibalo the Third.  
Luckily, he read up on them all before coming, which had the benefit of jogging up his memory, vague as it seemed.

"Perhaps we should save the angst for later." He doesn't know why he said that, but Lukas doesn't react much other than to grab his hand and start pulling him in the supposed direction of their father.

"You've changed." Lukas says, setting his arm around Harry's shoulder.

Harry spares him a glance, reading his expression. It's pensive, not suspicious, thank Circe. 

There's a wrinkle between his brows that Harry wants to swipe away with his thumb, but he resists the urge. 

Lukas doesn't like his face being touched, especially after the incident that gave him the thin white jagged scar that runs down the left side of his face. 

"Have I?" Harry asks, distracted. His eyes trace the side of his brother's face, taking in the set of his defined jawline, high rosey cheekbones against pale skin coupled with a strong nose. Red eyes give Harry a brief enquiring gaze, but Harry can't quite draw his own away from the curtain of silvery pale hair that's suddenly swept all over the place because of a short gust of warm air.

He's beautiful, scars and all. And fragile looking, despite his sharp features. 

Harry will protect him, all of them, for Adomaitis.  
This family always has vultures circling around, waiting for someone to falter and fall.

"Yes, you are." He drawls. "You even sound like them."

Harry frowns. "That's a good thing."

"I suppose." He says, grinning a bit. "What sort of mischief did you get up to?"

"Why is that always the general assumption?" Harry asks, pouting.

"You've never been one to behave." Hanibalo says, and Harry realises they've reached the orchids.

"Barininkas." He breaths out, surprised by the intensity of the happiness that bursts inside of him. (3)  
Hanibalo doesn't smile, but his eyes crinkle with intense pride and joy.

It's like staring into a mirror, although Hanibalo is much older and taller than Harry is. And the other half of his head is completely silver blond. It doesn't look artificial, because the eye on the same side is red too.  
"Na, kokia blogybė jums atsibodo, Adomaitis?"(4)

Harry chuckles. "Surprisingly, alot. I think half the Heirs want me dead."

"Not all of them?" Lukas teases.

"No, not all of them. I managed to make a good impression on some, including the Black Heir."

"Impressive." His father praises. "The Blacks are practically English Wizarding Royalty, they're the oldest Pureblood line in the country."

"How'd you do it?" Lukas asks, looking impressed.  
"I think he secretly enjoys the chaos that follows me everywhere. There's a sharp mind behind his exasperated eyes, and a cruel streak that goes a mile longer than anyone's cater to notice. He's going to be very useful in the years to come."

"I hope you haven't let on exactly what you're planning to do with him." Hanibalo asks.

Harry thinks for a moment. "Not all of it." He says, with a meaningful look.

His father raises a brow at him, before nodding. He's glad Hanibalo understands that Orion would've eventually gotten bored if Harry kept him in the dark. 

"Come," his father calls, linking their arms. "tell me about Hogwarts."

................................

Azuolus is twelve years to Harry's fifteen. Once upon a time, there was a healthy flush to his cheeks, muscles on his bones and a mischievous crinkle in his red eyes. Now, he's all but skin and bones, his once full head of hair has bald patches and a lankiness to it that was never there before.

Whatever he's sick with has taken his life. 

Harry doesn't stay longer than necessary, opting not to disturb his restless slumber. 

A house-elf, impeccably dressed, leads him to his chambers where Lukas is waiting for him.  
"You didn't take long."

Harry gives the room a passing glance. "He was asleep."

"He doesn't stay awake much these days."  
Azulous has been sick for a while now, and despite having the best medi-specialists seeing to him, they've yet to find a reason behind his illness.

He hums, going to sit by the bed. "I'm bored."

Lukas doesn't miss a beat, probably used to Adomaitis' quirks. "What do you want to do?"

"Tell me what's happened since I left."

"Grandmother and Uncle came by last week" Lukas snarling a bit. 

Harry raises a brow, taking note of how his brother's entire demeanor changes. "What was their reason for visiting?"

"They said, and I quote 'Adomaitis is up to no good again'."

"Can you blame them? I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to staying out of trouble."

"No, no. They made us believe they were here for that reason, and father and I were too worried they'd somehow find out what we have planned, so we it slipped our thoughts to actually think about what the true purpose of their visit was."

"Which is?"

"Putting Grindelwald on the guest list."

Harry blinks.

"You mean the delusional megalomaniacal psychopathic criminal, Grindelwald?"

"Come on brother, there's no other Grindelwald you know of."

"Shite."

Shite indeed.

"The carelessness." Lukas mutters, groaning a bit after.

"How much trouble are we bound to find ourselves in?"

"The Ministry operates as a seperate entity from the Monarch. They've been looking for a reason to throw one of us behind bars since forever. Fratanizing with an international criminal so publicly is just asking for trouble."

"Politics." Harry says with a snort, throwing himself back onto the bed. "If father offends Grindelwald, then we have a major issue on our hands and he can't publically declare that he's not siding with Grindelwald, because we're neutral, and that's how we've survived for so long."

The dimension may be somewhat similar to his own, but it's a different one nonetheless, which means things could go differently than the history he's familiar with. 

He can't rely on the fact that he knows Dumbledore will put an end to all of this. He's already changed too much as it is, being here and all.

If Grindelwald wins, then they're as good as dead.  
But if they join Grindelwald, they'll be arrested along with him if he looses.

'Does Grindelwald have the elder wand yet?' he asks Death.

'He does.'

'Can you make it stop working?'

'Way ahead of you, Master.'

'Good.'

'What are you planning?' the other asks, curious.  
'You're already in my mind, Death. Don't be lazy.'

The being hums in interest a moment later.

"I'll take care of it, don't worry your pretty little head."

Lukas raises a brow at him. "No, you aren't."

Harry scoffs. "Do you have a plan of your own?"

"No, but I'm in the process of making one."

"That's not good enough. The ball is tomorrow Lukas, we can't afford to—"

"I concede to your point," the older cuts him off. "But I know for a fact that you're not good at making plans, and that whatever your brain has cooked up is very dangerous."

He's right, but Harry can afford to be reckless now. It's not like he can die or anything.

"How about I promise you I'll make it out alive."

"With utmost assurance?"

"What do you take me for?"

"A zealot."

The dry comment brings a violent snort out of him. "A zealot of what exactly?"

"Violence and irresponsibility."

Harry snorts again, amused. "I'll take of everything, trust me."

"Alright."

.............................

It comes as no surprise that planning events is something Adomaitis loves to partake in, and is actually good at.

The problem of course, is that Harry is way in over his head.

Fortunately for him, the only thing he has to do is check that everything is in order for tomorrow, and he'll be done. The ballroom has already been decorated, the theme colour being a dark mahogany red with elements of white and you can see it in the decor. 

The long red almost transparent curtains that hug the walls, charmed to billow at a nonexistent breeze, the white roses that litter almost every surface but the floor. There's gold too, everywhere, and it's all peacocking if you ask Harry. But it looks good, it really does.

Alot of things look good here, the house elves included. They're appropriately dressed, and they've a certain thing about them that seperates them from the other elves Harry's met. For one, their is English is proper, despite the underlying thick accent.

Did they receive an education perhaps?

It's useless to ponder on such things, the ball is only hours away. They have to start receiving family members soon.

"Pointless, isn't it?"

"On some aspects yes, but it does open doors to some much needed interactions." Harry says, turning around to meet his father's gaze.

There's something cool and untouchable about Hanibalo. But somehow, Harry knows where to look when he wants to measure the man's mood. He can tell that his father is slightly nervous from the slight dilation of his pupils, and Harry can't blame him. He's nervous too.

"Lukas tells me you have something planned for our 'guest'."

"I have it all under control."

There's a beat of silence, heavy with tension as Hanibalo stares him in the eye. "Alright."

When was the last time someone trusted him like that? It's different. A good different.

Harry breathes out a sight of relief. "I heard there was a mass breakout of dragons up by the northern sanctuary."

"Yes, an unfortunate oversight by the groundskeeper. The wards weren't strengthened like they were supposed to be. But if you ask me, something about the whole issue doesn't make sense. Jean Paul has an impeccable record from his last employment at the Romanian Sanctuary, that's why he was poached. For him to make such a simple mistake..." Hanibalo trails off.

"You think something bigger than meets the eye is happening?"

"I know something is. There was a break in at the Department of Mysteries last month, the Department of Law Enforcement last week, but everything was accounted for."

Harry narrows his eyes. "What do you think is happening?"

"I'm not sure, loathe I admit. But we need to be careful now more than ever. And watch each other's backs."  
"Of course."

"Go and get ready."

......................  
"Cigarette?"

"That's not good for your health." Harry says, adjusting the pin on his breast. He casts a quick eye over his outfit, holding out his arms for the elves in charge with assisting him to button his sleeves. 

The robes are made of Acrumentula silk, emerald green in colour with a golden floral pattern stretching across the length of it, and they run down to just beneath his knees with a slit that starts just above the buckle of his belt, where you can see his very dark black tight fitting pants. 

His hair has been slicked back with a charm, and on his head lies a golden crown befitting of a Prince, with red rubbies styled in a zigzag pattern that run across it.  
Lukas looks stunning in his white robes and pants, royal pins adorned proudly across his right breast. His crown is bigger than Harry's, with a big gem sitting at the centre of it. His long white hair is styled in a neat bun, kohl carefully drawn on his eyelids to enhance the beauty of his Ruby red eyes. 

"Says who?"

"The things we enjoy are often not good for us. Especially smoke in your lungs."

"Bite me."

Harry scrunches his face disgust. "No thanks."

"Always so uptight."

He sighs. "One cigarette."

Lukas gestures for him to come to the balcony. "I've always been jealous of your view." 

It is somewhat extraordinarily beautiful. Harry's side of the wing has been charmed to look like the Table Mountain in Cape Town with a bit of the beach just at the edge.

"Hmmm."

"Be careful tonight. We're counting on you."

"I know."

An elf pops into the room, bowing lowly. "Your highnesses guests have arrived."

"Send them here, please."

"Of course."

They quickly finish they're cigarettes, and settle onto the love seats by the fireplace just as the doors open. Orion is the first to enter, dressed in completely black outfit. Despite it looking like he's to attend a funeral, it looks much too elegant for an event like that.

"Hadrian." He greets.

"Call me Adomaitis. I'd like to keep the mystery around who Hadrian Peverell for as long as I can."

It looks like he's trying very hard not to roll his eyes, but Orion agrees. "Alright."

Lukas makes an amused sound.

He's closely followed by Eileen, who's dressed in a lime green...yes, open back dress. Acwel enters next, dressed in pale blue dress robes. They don't look overwhelmingly expensive, but the colour suits him perfectly.

"Is that all of you?" Harry asks.

"I don't think Loiros will make it, his grandparents have contracted dragon pox." Acwel says.

"I'll have to write him a letter." Harry says, lightly. "This is my brother, the Crowned Prince of The Lithuanian Magical Monarch, Luckas Ygdrïs, First of his name, Son of King Hanibalo the Third." 

With a subtle gesture from Harry, the three bow to his brother who gives them all an amused smile.

"There was no need for dialogue, little brother." Lukas says to Harry, then to the others. "Well met, Heir Black, Heir Parkinson, Heiress Prince. You are guests here, please be at ease. It's so rare that I meet a group of young people that make an impression on my brother. He's a fickle being."

Harry rolls his eyes. "And that was your queue to leave. Go amuse yourself by watching everyone fall over themselves to kiss your arse."

Lukas laughs, before standing up, nodding at the trio and leaving.

"What's happened since I left? And please take a seat." Harry says, gesturing to the seats. "Clicks!"

An elf pops into the room. "Your highness?"

"Two glasses of fire whiskey, please. And bring a bottle of sweet red wine from our early 1800's collection."

"Of course, your highness."

Eileen seems a bit overwhelmed to be here, and dispite hiding it rather admirably, the other two are as well.  
"There's been a shift in the balance of power. The court recognises you as a possible candidate for the position of King, so many have turned away from Riddle and his Knights so to speak." Acwel says.

"And the four of you?"

"I've enough power attached to my name so no one's been giving me any trouble. But Prince here has been facing a rather persistent amount of backlash."

"Tasteless." Harry comments.

"To go after a woman?" Eileen growls.

"No. To bully someone else for my actions."

"I chose to side with you. I'll take whatever they throw at me."

"Of course you will." Harry says, sighing softly. "But that's not the point. What will they achieve by bringing you down? Angering me?"

"They want to get a rise out of you. I'm sure they're hoping you'll make a mistake." Acwel says.

Harry throws his head back and laughs loudly. "Right." He says, calming down. "I want you enjoy yourselves tonight. Make connections. You aren't just here to look pretty," he says, winking at Eileen, who averts her gaze, a blush blooming on her cheeks. ", but to elevate your families status. There's many opportunities for the picking."

"And you?" Orion asks, his gaze enquiring.

"I'll leave for a bit, I have duties to attend to. But an elf will announce you, and everyone will know that you have my ear. Which means they'll fall over themselves trying to gain your favor."

"Not a people's person."

"It's exhausting."

The elf returns with the drinks, and Harry grabs his own whilst standing up. Then gulps it all in one go.

"You're allowed to snoop. I'll see you soon. Behave." He says, not really meaning his last words.

He has a date with Grindelwald to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Still a little bitch, brother!  
> 2) Devil!  
> 3) Bearer—this I will make clear as the chapters continue.  
> 4) What sort of mischief have you been up to, Adomaitis?
> 
> I haven't given Lukas and Hanibalo much 'screen time' because I'm developing them in my head. So far, I want them to be just as apathetic as Harry is to everything but each other, their family that is.
> 
> Obviously something is going on, and that as well, will be made clear in the coming chapters. Please comment, I'd like to hear what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conspiracy or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it's good enough to be the end of an arch 😂😂, but yeah no. Actually, I am probably going to be joining this story with Perseverance because for some odd reason the two stories could head in the same direction. I'd suggest you don't read Perseverance before I finish this one but you can do whatever you like. 
> 
> So the story is going to go as I Death said in the earlier chapters. Harry has already embarked on the journey so there's no turning back now.  
> Yes, he's going to fall in love with Tom Riddle and I don't want to lie or keep this secret but it won't end well😂😂😂 I mean, it will, but....you know what, stay tuned my dear readers!

It's not the striking black robes nor the dangerous prowl Grindlewald approaches him with that arrests his attention, but his imperious mismatched gaze as he catalogues every exit, corner and item laid decoratively across the room before it's rests on Harry's form. 

His gaze alone, Harry's heard, could strike fear in anyone’s heart, but all the dimensional traveler feels is a slight tinge of caution. He does not fear death and therefore he fears not but a few things, a testament to his open stance. But it's not enough impair the powerful mind that drives his body, and already, thoughts and plans take form in his mind, different scenarios observed and catalogued with breakneck speed.

"Well met, Mr. Grindlewald."

"Your highness." The other says, bowing shallowly, every bit insincere.

Harry almost scoffs irritably. "I'm surprised you attended."

"It's not every day you get invited to a royal ball."  
Harry continues to observe him, taking in his easy stance, the blank expression on his face and the way his arms are hidden behind his body, disallowing Harry from seeing what the criminal could be holding behind him. A wand perhaps, or a knife?

"A simple oversight on my behalf. You must understand that it does not bode well for my family to be seen fraternizing with an international menace."

Grindlewald chuckles, but his eyes are still cold and calculating, and they promise retribution. "I admit; I did wonder about that. But more than anything, I wondered what the Prince of Lithuania could possibly be doing in the British Isles playing school boy with the commoners. Surely you have better things to do with your time than claiming long dead names and disturbing a hornets nest."

"If only it were any of your business what I do with my time, then perhaps we'd be having a different conversation. But I digress, you must be dying to know why I called you here."

"I do find myself interested. It's been a long time since I've answered to anyone's call."

"I imagine you marvel at my audacity." Harry says, walking to the table on his right and pouring himself a glass of fire-whiskey. "A glass?"

"You honor me, your highness." He says. "Yes, please."

Harry tilts his head in a curious manner, pondering. Then he hums. "Get it yourself."

2 - Harry, 0 - Grindelwald.

He's pleasantly surprised that he revels in the shocked indignation the man wears, perhaps finding too much enjoyment in this verbal spar. Did he honestly expect Harry to pour him a glass?

So far, Grindelwald is underestimating him. Thinking him a child trying to play with the big boys. But he's wrong, Adomaitis, no, Harry as well, does not play anyone's game. Not anymore. This is his chessboard now.

"I asked you here because rumor has it you're in possession of an artifact that originally belonged to my ancestor. I'm willing to bargain for it."

Grindlewald chuckles. "An artifact you say? Why in Circe's name would I give away something like that?"

"Because I can put it to better use than you ever can."

Grindlewald is silent for a moment, before he says "If you're working under the assumption that I can't separate your head from its shoulders just because you're in your own territory, then you are gravely mistaken. I will do just that if you continue to try my patience."

Harry let's a smile curl onto his lips, feeling giddy. Is this what it feels like to spar with Death and fear nothing? "I have no doubt that you've heard of the Deathly Hallows, know more about them then any person alive can claim to. Better yet, you have one in your possession now. But you don't really understand them, or the elder wand."

Grindlewald goes to pour himself a of fire-whiskey. "And you do?"

"Somewhat." Harry says with a shrug.

"What exactly are you willing to give me for it?"

"Diplomatic immunity, when your pursuits fall flat on its face."

Grindlewald chuckles, amused this time. "You aren't the first or the last person to tell I'm chasing a fools dream."

"A fools dream? That's hardly what I consider it." Harry says, shaking his head. "There are approximately 1.6 billion people living on this planet currently, and about 20 million have magic.

Of that 20 million many are still training their magic, too old and decrepit to even cast a simple Lumos or too young to even manifest any accidental magic. So maybe if we possibly disregard what I just said, it would leave us with about 6 more muggles to one wizard. Do you understand the odds? 

Do you, truly? Because I would've supported the merits of your pursuits had you done it before these muggles gained so much military power. They'll destroy Gaia trying to destroy us, so no, yours is not a fools dream. It is extinction."

Silence.

Silence is a good sign.

"My family has been watching the movement of the Hallows for centuries now, and we knew the exact moment you 'procured' it from Grigovitch. The wand you have in your possession is not just my birth right, it belongs to me. 

And since I'm in such a good mood, the offer for diplomatic immunity still stands, that is if you give me the wand back now so I don't have to pry it off your Cold. Stiff. Fingers."

..............

"They look scary." Acwel says, gesturing at a group of people standing next to Hadrian's almost carbon copy.

"They look mean." Eileen says.

"They look like they could make life very difficult for us if we continue whispering nonsense about them." Orion says, a tense smile set on his face. "Compose yourself. I don't want any of you to embarrass Adomaitis in any way."

Acwel and Eileen do compose themselves, fortunately enough, and not a moment later they're approached by a regal looking aged woman. She practically glides towards them, a slight cold smile set on her fine boned face.

"Gentlemen, lady." She greets, thick with a European accent.

Orion bows slightly, recognizing the easy comfort she carries herself in these walls whereas everyone else has something tense about them. Eileen and Acwel follow his lead, probably seeing the same thing.  
Recognizing power and aristocracy is amongst one of the most important lessons taught to Pureblood Heirs.

"Your Highness." They all murmur.

"I've never seen you before. Might this woman enquire about your persons."

"Orion Cygnus the third, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

"Eileen Cleopatra, of House Prince."

"Acwel the first, of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass."

"My oh my." She says slowly, surprised. "I didn't know we were receiving Heirs all the way from the British Isle. Are you enjoying the festivities?"

"Greatly so." Orion answers, after a beat of silence.

"Is the food to your liking?" She adds, filling the silence.

"Everything is exquisite, your highness." Eileen says, almost simpering.

Orion almost wants to slap her over the head but easily resists the urge. Showing a certain level of deference is expected, but they mustn't present themselves as meek and submissive. They're supposed to be the best Wizarding England has to offer.

"Good, very good. Who is it you've come with?"

"We were invited by Prince Adomaitis." Acwel says, smiling slightly.

All at once her friendly continence crumbles from her face. Funny enough Orion can see that her previous expression was completely unreal next to this one. She hums quietly.

"Why, pray tell, did he deign to invite you here?" The way she says it, like they're suddenly scum, raises Orion's imaginary hackles.

A hand settles on his tense shoulder, squeezing comfort and calm into him.

"They are my friends, grandmother." Hadrian says, appearing as if out of nowhere from behind them.  
Her face goes through a thousand micro-expressions in a short span of time. "I didn't know you could make those, dear grandson."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, dear grandmother." Orion is sure even a fool can pick up on that not so subtle warning.  
Speaking of...

There's something off about Hadrian, Orion thinks, casting the other boy a short glance. He looks slightly ruffled. And he smells heavily of ozone.

Eileen clears her throat. "If you'll excuse us, my lady. Our drinks need refilling and we have some...matters to discuss with Prince Adomaitis."

"Whatever matters concern the Prince, concern the Crown, and whatever concerns the Crown, concerns me." She says, tartly.

Hadrian tilts his head curiously, giving Eileen the floor to speak. 

Cruel.

"I-They're personal matters, your Highness."

"Personal matters?" She questions, suddenly delighted. "They really are your friends, aren't they?" 

Hadrian clenches his jaw, before gritting out an annoyed 'yes' between his teeth.

"How delightful!" She exclaimed happily. "This is momentus occasion."

"Yes, yes, quite." He mutters. "But we must leave now."

"Before you go, a word of advice for you, grandson." She says. "Don't damage them too much. The last thing we need is an all-out war with English Wizarding Nobles."

They hear her laughter trailing behind them as they make their way out of the crowd.

...................

"That went pleasantly." Harry says, taking a large gulp of fire-whiskey straight from the bottle. He unbuttons the first three buttons of his robes.

The three are giving him grim looks.

"What?" He asks.

"What was she going on about?" Acwel asks, swallowing loudly.

Harry rolls his eyes. "I don't exactly have the best of reputations. I've done away with a few pigs, but it was nothing less than they deserved."

Acwel swallows again.

Alright, not the best way to word that then. "Look, you don't need to fear me. I only... eliminate those who betray my trust."

Orion clears his throat, sitting up more rigidly on his seat. "Your feathers seem ruffled."

"My grandmother and I don't have the best of relationships. My father, according to some, isn't fit to rule. He's too kind they say, and Lukas takes after him in that sense. Unfortunately, I don't. Or rather, not for my grandmother who has for the longest time tried to have my father removed from the throne. I took every bit ruthlessness from her I suppose, it's hard to grow around her and not, and so I am a threat." Harry continues. "My grandmother hasn't come up with any original ideas in long time. She's tried to poison us, assassinate us, many things really, so I didn't see this one coming."

"What did she do?" Eileen asks.

"She invited Gelert Grindlewald."

"Merlin's saggy balls."

"Acwel." Eileen scolds. "I didn't see him anywhere though."

"I had a house elf lead him to a private room in the West wing as soon as he arrived. We had a short conversation there."

"Crisis averted then?" Orion asks.

Harry laughs. "Oh, I'd be getting ahead of myself if I said it has been."

"So what happened?" Acwel asks.

"He tried to kill me, no surprise there." 

"And you got out alive?" Orion questions, his eyes widening in shock.

Seeing as he died, that's a big fat resounding no. "If you can call it that. I don't believe in coincidence, Grindlewald is now a problem, a big problem. There were break-ins at the Ministry, nothing important taken but I suspect many things were made note of."

"Like what?" Orion asks.

"Guard rotation, Auror schedules, a list of XXXX creatures in our custody. That could explain the incident at our dragon reserve last week. There could've been other break-ins at the Ministry that we aren't aware of, or maybe they deliberately kept that tidbit of information from my father"

"Your country needs new management." Acwel interrupts, unhelpfully.

Wait—

"That's it!" Harry thinks out loud. "They're planning something...a Ministry Coup maybe? Or an attempt to discredit my father, to have him removed from the throne under assumptions of incompetency"

"Adomaitis"

"then the wolves will swoop in—"

"—Hadrian"

"And attack when he's down—"

"Harry!"

His eyes widen in shock, words dying in his throat as he stares at Eileen in surprised horror. "Wha-where did you hear that name?"

"Um-I," Eileen splutters. "I just thought of it."

"Right." Harry says, blinking quickly.

"Just calm down alright. Youre acting mental." She says, eerily similar to how Ron used to scold him. 

"So, how sure are you that these things are connected?" Orion asks. "Because it seems like a huge conspiracy at best and a meltdown at worst."

Harry thinks for a moment. Yes, it does seem like a conspiracy, but it also makes sense.

Thats what a conspiracy theorist would say. Death says, amused. 

"Get this," Harry says, grabbing their attention. "The Lithuanian Magical Government is comprised of the Monarch and the Ministry. These two entities abide by both Old and New laws. The Old laws are those dating back five hundred years ago, before my ancestor became the first Magical King of this country. The New laws are those agreed upon by the entirety of the Wizengamot, made up of the Minister, Lords and Ladies, Noblemen and Women, Counts and the assorted Dutch, and finally three members of the Royal Family. Ever since my uncle, Dominykas became the Minister of Magic, my older brother Lukas has had to stand in his place during such meetings."

"Why did your uncle become Minister of Magic? It seems like he's given up a great deal of power." Acwel says.

"Yes, it does, does it not. And I thought the same thing for a long time. But no, I'm not stupid, the Minister of Magic has influence, a lot of influence, so he's clearly been playing the long game. 

There are many pies he's managed to stick his fingers in, events that he may have set into motion and we're yet to know about. But back to my point, the three members of the Royal Family are usually the last Ruler, Regent or their spouse, the Army Commander who is always the second born son, and the King or Queen."  
"Your brother, Prince Lukas is the new Army Commander?" Acwel asks.

"No, he isn't." Harry quickly replies. "He's the Crowned Prince. I am training to be Army Commander, and the position should've been shared between us or at extreme given only to me, but somehow my brother has it. 

I don't know why the law was bent this way, maybe my uncle recommended him before he claimed the position of Minister or maybe its because my uncle is alive and that changes the laws somehow, I'll really have to read up on these laws. It isnt supposed to be done that way. Training to be an Army Commander is no easy task, it takes years to familiarize oneself with the customs and nuances that separate each of the 10 states my ancestors was able to bring under his rule. Lukas was grossly unprepared, he never trained to handle any sort of militia without my advice and it showed. Somehow, my grandmother uses every opening to undermine my father rule."

"This is recent too, isnt it?" Orion asks.

“Its been five months since my uncle's election." 

"Then it makes sense why your brother's having a hard time with his appointment." 

"There is no room for mistakes when playing the Game of Thrones."

Everyone takes a moment to absorb his words.

"Why does she hate you anyway, all of you I mean?" Eileen asks.

"She's not actually my grandmother, she's a wretched old hag that somehow managed to seduce my grandfather and spawn another devil. Shes never been able to hide how much she thinks her son is the rightful ruler of this country." Harry says, scowling a bit. "And I disagree every bit. My father is a good leader; I know it deep in my bones. If I have to bloody my hands to make sure he stays on that throne, then thats exactly what Im going to do."

"Alright." Acwel agrees. "What do you want us to do?"

Harry gives him a surprised look.

"Were allies, remember?" Eileen says.

"And were in this together." Orion says with a shrug. "Plus, an adventure like this is bound to be fun."

"Okay then." Harry says, finally smirking. "First order of business—"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a minor edit of the chapter, seems I made an error with some demographics of the wizard population.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adomaitis cleans house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✊✊✊ We Matter.

Saturday morning finds Harry seated in the sun room of the West wing, enjoying a rich brew of coffee he's never had before, not that he knows much about coffee. There's a pensive look on his face, as there's a lot he has to think about. 

Hogwarts. Does he really have to return? Adomaitis' plan to subtly land himself a high Ministry position in England doesn't make sense now. Yes, there are merits to it, but it seems like too much of a hassle to do when his own country is in shambles. Hanibalo is 39 years old, and has a long life ahead of him, which means that Lukas will be occupying Harry's Wizengamot seats for a long time before he becomes King. 

That maybe be the original reason why Adomaitis thought to of this plan. It would've given his older brother an edge to have an Army Commander that managed to gain alot of political power in another country. Only those with sense in their heads would know that if he wished it, Lukas could cast his shadow far and wide across the borders of his territory.  
Now, all they need to do is get rid of Grindlewald, which is going to be hard. The man is very good at exploiting people's fear of muggles, and also shimmying up to all the Purebloods superiority complexes. He's managed to gather a following from all the four corners of the planet, and if they aren't careful disposing of him, they might end up exposing the Wizarding World. 

'Death.' 

'Yes, Master.' the being answers a moment later.

'How many people does my grandmother have in her pocket?' he asks, standing up. 

'Where specifically?'

'In this house.'

'Hmmm.' the being hums, probably investigating or something. 'One of the gardners, two butlers, the physician—'

'Which physician?' he asks, placing the delicate teacup back on its saucer. 

'It seems like it's the one that attends to your little brother.'

Harry blinks. "That's not possible."

"What isn't possible?" 

Harry turns around, eyes narrowed in thought. "Good morning father."

"Adomaitis." Hanibalo says, walking up to place a kiss on his forehead. "You're worried about something." He says this whilst smoothing away the wrinkle on Harry's forehead with his thumb.

"It's nothing you need to worry about father, I've got it under control." The 'for now' is left unsaid. "Did you enjoy last night?"

"I did." Hanibalo replies, taking a seat next to the one Harry had been occupying. "And seeing as there was no commotion, I'm guessing you managed to turn the criminal around."

"Somewhat." Harry says, not completely telling the truth. "I was able to disguise the invitation as the chance to form an alliance with him."

"And?"

"He did not like some of my terms. Luckily, he took no offense to my words, and I had the house-elves escort him from the premises."

Hanibalo raises a brow at him. "It's very much unlike you to handle a situation with decorum."

"There was no room for mistakes." Harry answers easily. "Father?"

"Hmmm." Hanibalo hums.

"Where do you keep the employee oaths?"

"In my office. Why?"

"Just some things I need to look over." Harry says, casually. "Nothing serious."

Hanibalo chuckles. "You never just do things."

"I know, I know. But a little paranoia now and then never hurt." He says. "I'll just head over there now—"

"Adomaitis." Hanibalo cuts him off. "You would tell me, if you couldn't handle it, right?"

Harry smiles. "Of course, father."

"Good."

....................  
"Mr. Dvorak."

"Your highness." The man bowed slightly.

"Please, take a seat." 

"Thank you." 

Harry smiles at him. "I went to see my brother this morning, he's doing much better than before I left and I have you to thank."

"I'm glad I can be of service to the crown, my Prince." The man says, a little bit of confusion bleeding into his eyes. "But your brother's cond—"

"Good." Harry says, rifling through some of the parchment paper on his father's large office table. "I've been having employees interviewed for hours now, and I thought I'd personally talk to you because of your rather sensitive position."

"If I may ask your highness, what brought this on?"

"A little dose of paranoia now and then never hurt anyone." Harry says, still smiling. "And this could be considered a practical lesson for my future duties."

The man hums uneasily.

"You've been a Doctor for 25 years now, considered the most capable amongst your peers."

"I worked hard to earn the respect of those in my field."

"Must've been difficult?"

"I had to grab every opportunity that came my way and make opportunity where there was none. As a Russian immigrant I knew it would not be easy to make a name for myself in a different country, especially in these times."

Harry hums in agreement, murmuring a silent true. "I went through your previous interview with my uncle, and I must say your credentials are impressive, you've done a great deal of groundbreaking research on human biology. And you've created just as many medi-spells."

Antonin smiles, looking very pleased with himself.  
"Everything seems to be in order," Harry says, his smile widening. "there's just one tiny little error that I came across."

The man blinks back at him in feigned confusion, the smile gaining a strained edge to it. "My Prince."

"I'm sure it's nothing, but I can't afford not to go over everything. It's just to be sure." Harry said, reassuring him. "You see, on the oath you signed, there was a major loophole that I almost glossed over, but luckily for me, it caught my eye. It's says here, that you, Petrov Scalia Dvorak, are loyal to the people, and by extension the Crown, and that you would do everything in your power to protect your country and by extension the Crown and those under it. 

Now, I know my uncle conducted the interview, and that my father reviewed and still kept you as employee even though you did kind of cheat your way into this job."

"Your highness?" He enquires, nervously. 

"It's no secret that my uncle and father dislike one another, and my uncle left your oath deliberately ambiguous for reasons of his own. Knowing that, you should've brought it to my father as your employer upon your first interaction, but you didn't. Instead you kept your mouth shut, afraid you'd loose this prestigious employment because of family politics, am I wrong?"

"I—"

"My father undoubtedly unearthed this, but also accounted that you hadn't done anything but your job, and decided that you were allowed to have your own opinion on what was good for the 'Crown', the country and its people. He's a good King, after all. Not a dictator. People in this country are allowed their opinions."

"Your highnes—"

"So i got to thinking, about this loophole. It left a lot to misinterpreted, for example, it did not mention which country, crown or people you were in service of. The assumption centered around Lithuania, her people and her Crown, but that's not the case, is it? I can my see father overlooking this. 

He's had a difficult rule, what with my uncle and grandmother opposing him on every direction, and since he promised to be more involved in the lives of his children, he's had to deal with my childish rebellion and my brother's reckless nature.

These are all my assumptions of course, you're allowed to disagree with me if I'm incorrect, but see, I will know if you're lying to me and you don't want to lie to me."

The man swallows convulsively, starting to sweat.

"Dr. Dvorak, I haven't all day. My portkey will activate in just a few hours, so I need to get ready to go back to school." Harry says, still smiling. "Nothing to say? Very well, then. Since you've been struck mute by terror I'll tell you what I think happened. I'm sure my uncle came knocking on your door sometime later, looking for a way you could pay him for his generosity, and because you didn't know that the King knows everything, you let my uncle blackmail you into poisoning my younger brother.

You must have thought luck on your side when my experiments went wrong and Azulous was caught in the crossfire. And since you used many of your own spells to aid you on your job, I'm sure you knew how to manipulate them to show whatever results you wanted, leaving you free to poison him at your leisure and my family none the wiser. Am I wrong?" He asks, grinning broadly.

The man goes deadly pale making Harry's shark-like grin grow even broader.

"So I'm correct." Harry says, shaking his head in disappointment. "Well, this is a mess Mr. Dvorak, a mess I cannot let my father know about. Come, follow me." He says, standing up. 

The man stands as well, following him out of the office into the main corridor. Outside, Harry's Shadows wait, six of them present and visible to the naked eye. They flank the man on both sides, making sure he has no way to escape. 

And Harry allows the tension to fall from his body, because there are anti-apparation wards around the castle and diverter wards for portkeys. There will be no way for the man to leave unless Harry wills it himself.  
The track to the dungeons is casual and unhurried, which is why Lukas catches up to them before they can get there. Harry can tell that he's livid, incredibly livid.

"What is the meaning of this? Adomaitis!"

"Calm yourself, brother."

"Calm myself? Azulous was supposed to receive his medication half an hour ago, from his physician, who you seem to have under your custody due to baseless and circumstantial evidence at best I'm sure."

"You don't even know what's going on."

"I know it was something Grindlewald said that's to blame for this uncharacteristic behaviour."

"There's nothing uncharacteristic about my behaviour. He is Russian scum—"

"Adomaitis," Lukas growls. "You obviously have a problem with identifying the importance of human life. You can't keep making these outrageous leaps about betrayals and coups and you can't think of life, our lives, as a chess game."

Harry gives him a blank stare, oddly hurt that Lukas would think is anything like that. "Explains why you're shit at doing my job."

Lukas narrows his eyes at him. "Did it ever cross your mind that I was given that job because of the obvious flaws in your character?"

"Well at least I wouldn't embarrass father at every corner."

"Says the walking embarrassment." Lukas snaps. 

"What you've done is unforgivable Adomaitis. Jeopardizing our brothers health—"

"It's funny how you're quick to trust me to take care of something when you've thoroughly fucked up all the available solutions, but you doubt my abilities when sniffing out a simple traitor?"

Lukas' face goes completely cold. "It would be best for everyone if you left."

Harry turns to the Doctor. "Mr. Dvorak, forgive me for my presumptions."

Then he turns around and leaves.

................

Lukas follows him in to his bedroom, eyes blazing until the door closes behind him.

Then he laughs.

"Did I do good brother?"

Harry turns around and smiles at him. The room, prior to their entrance, was charm with privacy spells, and Harry made sure to check their integrity when he came in. "You did great."

"Do you think they're going to fall for it?" Lukas asks.

"Grandmother is smart, but I've been playing her like a harp for a while now. She thinks I resent you, albeit privately. She might let her guard down because of our 'fight', but that doesn't mean we should underestimate her. I want you to have our shadows tail him at discretion, then have them tail whoever Dr. Dvorak finds in our grandmother's company, except for the old bat."

For awhile now Adomaitis hadn't made it a secret that he wasn't impressed with whoever decided Lukas should take his position, and he may have subltly and passively criticized all his brothers actions where their grandmother could see. 

He'd started small, a comment here and there, until Lukas had snapped (it was as much as a Pureblood Crowned Prince could snap) after Wizengamot meeting, and it had gotten her attention and stuck.

"Right, because we can't have her getting suspicious."

"Exactly. The best time to strike is when the enemy least expects it."

Lukas sighs happily. "Five years to catch that old hag has been a long wait. And finally, phase one is complete."

"We've made many sacrifices, but no more. Start phase two, brother."

.....................

Harry looks at the assembled four, seated comfortably on the loveseats he'd conjured when they reached his rooms.

He's been back for an hour and some now, and he'd asked Orion and them to come see him in the evening as he'd already be back.

"So, you all have nothing?" He asks.

The four share uneasy looks, Eileen shaking her head negatively.

"It's not an easy thing you asked of us, Hadrian." Loiros says. "We can't just betray our fathers."

"You understand what's at stake, don't you?" Harry enquires. "Because I do. And I'm going to do everything I can to stop him, with or without your help. It's best you draw a line right now so that I know what and what not to expect from the four of you."

"I won't do or say anything that will implicate my father, or my family in anyway." Acwel says. "I believe in your cause, and I want to fight for you, but I don't want to bring my family into it. Every effort I take towards his downfall must add to the boon you'll offer my father."

"And mine." Loiros says. "That's where I draw my line."  
"Do the both of you feel the same way?" Harry asks Eileen and Orion.

"My family isn't involved in any of Grindlewald's activities, and they aren't sympathizers. They believe he's a raving lunatic that'll get us all killed." Eileen says. "I'll help you, in anyway that I can. As long as you promise that my family won't suffer for my actions."

"Your family is under my protection Eileen, simply because you are a valued friend. No one will touch them." Harry promises. "Seeing as you have nothing to report, it's best you get back to your dorms. No doubt we'll have an interesting week."

The three nod, leaving Orion behind in the room with Harry.

"My father fashions himself as an ally of Grindlewald's."

"Pride is a funny thing." Harry says after humming.  
"Walk with me."

Harry stands and opens the door, Orion following closely behind him.

"Some of the Lords agree with Grindlewald, and I believe they're only a step away from joining his movement."

"I didn't think the Lords had it in them, following another man." Harry muses out loud.

"Don't underestimate the power of prejudice and superiority complexes." Orion says, dryly. "Tell me, what of your plan now? To catch this country in your snare?"  
"Well, Orion, I'll have to do something that won't endear me to the Purebloods.

"And what's that?"

"I'll have to become the champion of Mudbloods, Half-breeds and beasts." Harry says, amused.

Orion gives him a wide eyed stare. "That's the worst way to go about it."

"It's not hard to see why you'd think that, and I'll admit my thoughts went around the same direction as yours. But that was until I received the lovely reception my first night here. 

The Lords despise me, and I'm all for playing the long game, but I'm not interested in changing the minds of bigots. If they want to fight me, I'll just find my way in using unorthodox methods."

"Where do the pariahs fall into the equation?"

"Now that would be telling my dear friend. Trust me, the less you know, the more you'll enjoy the ride."  
Orion gives him a long unimpressed but pensive look, before nodding. "Why are we going to the Slytherin common room?"

"I find myself missing Tom."

Orion sighs in long-suffering, making Harry chuckle mirthfully. "Alright."

They reach the doors, and Orion whispers the password before the door allows them in.  
There's a minute moment of preternatural stillness, but Harry dispels it with a raised brow. Gods, to have power. Riddle and his Knights are seated by the fireplace, no surprise there, and every single one of them is watching Harry and Orion.

Harry walks up to them. 

"A word, Riddle."

Tom gives him an icy stare. Oh, if looks could kill.  
"We'll continue our conversation later." He says, addressing the others.

Avery goes to speak, but Malfoy nudges him in reprimand, standing with the others. Then they all trudge away. 

Harry sits down on the loveseat to his left, sitting closest to the heat of the flame. Be casts a silent muffling charm before looking at Riddle.

"You look good for a zombie." Riddle says.

"And you look good for a man who's days are numbered." Harry counters, letting a smirk form on his lips. "I haven't come here to start anything with you, Riddle."

"Then speak and begone with you."

"Due to certain, I find myself preoccupied with issues that are much bigger than quarrels with children. So I propose a temporary truce."

Riddle clenches his jaw. "And what if I don't agree to this truce?"

Harry scoffs. "I'll be forced to blackmail you."

"Oh." Riddle says, tilting his head curiously. "And what possible blackmail material do you think you have in your possession?"

"Do you really want to take the chance and find out?"

"Please, if you think I can't maneuver my way around your ridiculous charges—"

Harry rolls his eyes. "I found it curious that a bunch of heirs listen to your every word, you, a supposed Mudblood. So, I did a little research. Imagine my surprise when I found out that your mother was one Merope Gaunt."

Riddle blinks at him in surprise, face loosing a bit of colour.

"A direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. I know how the Pureblood Lords in this country revere those with his blood, so I know if I were to blow the whistle, you'd have quiet the shit storm at your doorstep."

Riddle breathes calmly, face going deceptively blank. "A truce you say."

And Harry, well Harry smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Quick shoutout to dclaw23, love you lots, Imdaswqni, Rafaela, RyuukTheHatter, TediumDictata(Hollowlies), Wandmaker😍, Slytherin_King15 love you to death, emma you sweetheart, Nyra! Aelena thank you so much, Libraryrocke thank you thank you, kstarz🤗, freyascarlatti❤️❤️, 1Antisocialnerd love you, MagicianOfDabChaos all my love yo! Puplover4 mchwa to you, AHHHHHHHHHH love you lots and Wanderingson, thank you so much I saw that bookmark you really honour me❤️💓.
> 
> I haven't mentioned everyone, but thank you all for your support. I don't know what I did to deserve but thank you for your kind words. They really helped. They really. Thank you for always commenting and keeping my spirit up with your feedback. Thank you everyone who's reading, you're a blessing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter I've posted, so I'm very nervous about your feedback. I'm sorry about the comments, I'm shit at replying then and there. But I promise I'll get around to it soon. 
> 
> So, Harry is different in this chapter, (quick to anger, homocidal) and he's starting to notice just how much he's changed. I've also lain foundation for crossovers, since this is a dimension travelling fanfic, so I might add a couple more tags to the story soon. 
> 
> And there's the beginning's of the relationship tag, and a bit of mystery at the beginning which I'll reveal everything about to you, but not for a while.  
> I am feeling a bit off about posting this chapter, I really hope it doesn't suck as much as it feels like it does in my head. I don't know, maybe I shouldn't be posting this.  
> So thank you, if you're reading this. I appreciate the support, y'all are amazing.

**_An alarm went off in the dark and silent room, and blue eyes snapped open quickly, signs of fatigue and confusion bleeding away in a matter of milliseconds._ **

**_It was still for a moment before the figure quickly slipped out of the bed and grabbed a comfortable dark red cloak that had been laid on the dresser, right of the bed, then left the room. Standing at the foyer, hand on the nob of his door, the figure took a deep breath, before opening the door very slowly, and stepping out into a long and cold corridor._ **

**_The figure then slipped a wand out from the sleeve of his cloak, because only a fool leaves their wand behind, and cast a Disillusionment Charm that had him shimmering into flawed invisibility. Then, after casting a silencio on his feet, the figure began walking down the corridor, down the steps, and out to a long stretch of green grass that was eventually hidden under the dark tress of the Forbidden Forest._ **

**_Then, he walked down into the forest and further away from the castle, and just after entering the darkness of the forest, when the trees completely swallowed him, he disappeared in a sharp crack of apparation._ **

.............

"Tsk tsk."

"Your Grace." The Shadow says, stepping out of the shadow in the corner next to his bed.

"I need you to find me Newt Scammander."

"Not Th—"

"No, I'm talking about that Scammander." Harry cuts him off, leaning into his chair. "There's a magical creature trafficking ring that I've heard whispers of in Bengali. He should be heading there soon if he hasn't already."

"Of course, my Prince." The shadow says. "What then?"

"Tell him it would be in his best interest if we were to speak."

"Yours is my will, your Grace."

"Don't fail me."

"It shall be done."

The Shadow disappears, leaving Harry to shake off his unease. Where his father had gotten these men, he doesn't know, but their method of operation doesn't fail to make him nervous. It's a good thing they're on his side.

"Death."

'Yes, Master.' the being speaks in his thoughts.

"I'd like to visit your realm."

'Oh Master,' the being says, delighted. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

Harry looks to his right, where the Shadow had disappeared and raises a brow in marvel at the dark miasma that exudes from it. "There?" He asks.

"Come forward, Master." Death's voice sounds from within the darkness.

Harry stands, breathing in deeply, before stepping into the darkness.

'Blurhg' is what comes to his mind first when he dates to look around, for it is not black and white, it is without colour, but at the same time it is every colour he's ever seen. It shifts between darker and lighter colours every second, then blank to black and white on the next, sometimes inverted then neon, and makes his stomach turn so much he wants to hurl.

Disregarding the shifting scenery, Harry finds that it is so utterly and completely silent and...unnaturally peaceful. It is similar to how content you feel at the edge of sleep, in winter, with a fire breathing warmth around you, your body buried under soft covers and blankets. It also feels like a thousand embraces from your mother. Then it starts to feel like having a tub of ice-cream to yourself on a hot day.

Circe, it's a bit unnerving how much he wants to stay here forever. Then again he also wants to vomit pretty badly.

"You are the only thing truly alive in my Realm. I think that is the cause for your reaction, which is quite interesting, Master."

"I'm glad you're enjoying my unease, Death."

"There is nothing to fear in the Realm of Death. Come, Master."

As Harry begins to walk with Death at his side, substance takes form beneath their feet, grass grows, natural and stagnant colour forms and the sound of crickets can be faintly heard.

"Huh." Harry says, surprised.

"Your power, Master. It allows you to alter all that is around you to whatever you wish."

It takes a single thought to have the confusion turn into a large field of grass, softly dancing to the sway of a nonexistent breeze. Harry almost sighs out in relief.

He hears rough laughter to his west, turning quickly to look in that direction.

"Who...what are they?" Harry asks, pointing at a cluster of winged beasts leaning over something.

Their exterior is lined with what looks like an exo-skeleton, beneath it smooth pitch black flesh covers very muscled bodies. They are huge hulking bird-like creatures, with thier boned beaks arching up instead of down, they're twice as tall as humans, with unusually long arms and sharp four fingered hands.

"Soul Reapers." Death answers. "They while away thier time from their duties watching the Mortal Realm. Apparently there's much entertainment in watching the rise and fall of civilizations."

"Morbid." Harry comments. "Why did they manifest? I only wanted the field."

"They are your minions as much as mine, Master. You may not see them, but they watch over you, protecting you when my gaze has been turned away. They are never too far away from your position."

"Hmmm " Harry hums. Having extra guards may come in handy in the future, especially guards no one can see. "I wanted to come here for a reason."

"Yes, you're unsatisfied with the pace with which the mission is going."

"I need to find another hocrux." Harry says.

"Very good, Master." Deaths crones, pleased. "But you wanted to do something first, before you left."

"Yes." Harry says. "Where is he?"

"Right there." Death points, to a lone rock.

Harry turns to look, and sees the old man seated on the rock, eyes closed, breathing in the air. Harry starts to walk up to him, slowly and without rush, for he seems rather busy with his thoughts. Argh.

"Stranger."

"Well met, Raven."

The man continues to breath, and Harry leaves him to his silence. Until it starts to slightly annoy him.

"I understand that time is of no concern to the dead, but you've called me here for a reason. I have things to do, and I'd rather hear what you have to say before I depart."

"Forgive me, Stranger." The man says, opening his eyes and meeting Harry's own. "It is difficult to be in the moment."

"Speak."

"There is a tree, if it could be called that, sitting by its lonesome, at the edge of my world. It feeds off of the life beneath it and above. It feeds off of the living and the dead, growing each day from power it should not."  
Harry frowns. "How does this concern Death?"

"It is bringing about the End."

Harry turns to Death. "And this world is not supposed to die of this tree?"

"No, it is not. I have seen this tree before, a foul thing it is, Master."

"Where does it come from?" Harry asks.

Death does not answer him.

Harry turns back to the old man. "Do you know where it came from?"

"A being, paler than any man should be, with hair whiter than snow, planted it many years ago. It is only in death that I understood what it was doing to the earth it grew on.

"Where is this pale being now?"

"I do not know. It... disappeared into the heavens above, floating away, as if it was no lighter than the feathers of a bird."

Harry's frown grows deeper.

"Master, this is a violation of the Oldest of Laws. Souls that should've been mine are... not. Loathe I admit, the situation did not concern me, and for that I have only myself to blame. The issue has escalated beyond what I thought possible."

"How do you mean?"

"These pale beings, they have found immortality, flawed as it is, yet more vile than a hocrux could ever be. They hide from my gaze Master, which is cause for great scrutiny and concern."

Great. Just fucking great, Circe.

Harry bites his lip and thinks. The day had started out normal, with cryptic whispers of advice from Death about choosing who to trust carefully, and Harry had gone to classes, Eileen, Loiros and Acwel never too far from him, occasionally meeting Orion as he was going to another class of his own, as he was a third year and thus unable to spend much more than a few minutes with them.

The day had ended as quietly as it began, but Harry, during Magical History, had spent his time mapping out his plans for the hocrux quest, and also taking care of Gellert Grindlewald.

He hadn't planned on finding out that there's even more problems on top of the threat that Grindlewald poses, and that these pale beings are powerful enough to end worlds.

Harry sighs, looking at the old man known as the former Three Eyed Raven. "I promise you that I will look into it."

The old man inclines his head. "Thank you, Stranger."

Harry starts to walk away from the man, promising to see him again when he returns.

"I need you to tell me everything you know."

"They were ordinary people once, cruel to one another like every other civilization in existence. They did not interest me much, every species has something special about it and so I turned my gaze from them, my Reapers would collect their souls and that would be that." Death begins. "The last time I saw them was the time I looked away, they disappeared and only whispers of their existence could be heard and felt, they could no longer be seen by me or my Reapers except in glimpses stolen now and then. I've cast my gaze far and wide Master, and yet this immortality allows them to hide from me."

"But can you see the trees?"

"Yes, I can." The being says, troubled. "Across worlds, solar systems and galaxies. Across dimensions even." The last bit is said gravely, as if the possibility of it is jarring even to Death itself.

What's even more jarring to Harry is that these beings are collecting souls or destroying them somehow, if Death's explanation is to be interpreted.

"When I return, you will teach me about my gifts."

"As you wish, Master."

.............

When he enters Gringotts the alarm is already ringing, an annoying Avian-like sound that grates on his ears so much he wants to rip them off. Or level the whole establishment.

But he doesn't. What he does is walk past the reception, stunning every Goblin he comes across without bias, he walks past the offices and down the steps to the first vault, and he can already hear commotion deep within the bowels of the Goblin Bank.  
Forgoing the cart, Harry jumps over the edge of the passage, diving down head-first to the lowest parts, the area where he knows his counterpart is.

"Arresto momentum." He chants, bringing his descent to a stand-still, then carefully placing his feet under his body, he touches down and begins to walk.

There's a loud roar from the Dragon as it whips around it's cream coloured tail, laying waste to the foundation around it.

A spell whizzes past him, burning away the finest hairs on the side of his face. He turns to his attacker, casting a silent Difindo at him and watching curiously as his midsection is turned to mince.

The man falls over, gurgling an alarming amount of blood. Harry ends his suffering with a with a well aimed Cutting Curse.

'Huh,' he thinks, as the man's head rolls up to his boots.

'That's the second man I've killed.'

Then, he makes his way to the Dragon, dodging more than a few nasty looking spells, raising a shield now and then, and throwing around simple but overpowered jinxes and charms to keep the Goblins and Voldemort's Death Eaters busy.

Quickly, before it can get away, Harry grabs on the end of the Dragon's tail, applying a sticking charm to his hand so he can hold on during the bumpy ride, then with a single thought, vanishes away from site.

He gets lobbed in the head by a few rocks on their way up, and maybe he dies once or twice from the trauma of it all, but there's hardly much need for concern on that part.

When the Dragon finally breaches through the roof of Gringotts, taking probably it's first breath of fresh air in a long long time, Harry un-sticks his hand and starts to climb to it's back where Ron, Hermione and his counterpart are holding on for their dear lives. The Dragon flaps its wings once, twice then lifts off, leaving a storm of wind beneath it, shattering windows and doors, blowing men, women and children off their feet, and off it goes into the sky.

When the Dragon finally steady's itself, having gotten used to flying again, Harry let's the power of the invisibility cloak shimmer away. Above him, Ron gasps out in horror, and not a moment later three wands are pointed at him.

"Wait!" Harry shouts, arms raised in submission.

"Who are you?!" Hermione questions, digging Bellatrix's wand into his neck. "A-and why do you look like that?"

Harry gives all three of them a long look.

"You should've stunned me first."

All that leaves her mouth is hitched breath as her's, Ron's and the other Harry's wands fall from their hands, magical ropes winding around their bodies as they fall on their backs.

Harry sticks them onto the Dragon, before grabbing Hermione's charmed bag and rumaging through it.

"You know Harry, you don't really have to die." He says, still looking through the bag. "What you're doing now is enough."

"What are you going on about?" Ron growls out.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Harry pockets Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.

"Au' revoir." He says, apparating away.

Maybe he should've released them from the bindings first, but he didn't. If they can't get out of that, then they weren't meant to go on Dumbledore's mission. And they'll probably die soon.

... Everyone dies anyway.

.............

"I underestimated just how cruel you've become Master."

"You underestimate a lot of things lately." Harry snarks.

"Forgive me, Master, if I have offended you."

Harry let's it get awkward and tense for a moment before rolling his eyes. "No, forgive me. I'm...I don't feel right."

"No, you don't."

"I left them to die, and I didn't feel anything. I don't feel anything, well besides unease. And that's only because I don't feel anything." He looks up from the grass to Death. "Its all I ever feel these days. Unease and a little bit of amusement. Am I always going to be like this? Have I lost the ability to care?"

"No, you haven't. I will return your emotions to you if that's what you think is best. But you will never be the same person, Master. Death has changed you."

Not caring isn't so bad. Or at least it isn't so bad because it doesn't feel bad. Harry doesn't even remember what it felt like to love someone, and he knows he felt love only just three weeks ago when he was with his family. So maybe this thing, this emptiness, is growing everyday, and he's only just noticed it now because he's met people, shades of people he, as Harry Potter, loved fiercely.

He feels like he should be angry, at Death perhaps, but he just doesn't care.

Harry breathes out, letting the tension fall from his shoulders. "My gifts."

"The Hallows have merged with you. The stone allows you to summon the dead, the cloak allows you invisibility, and the wand allows you to use magic without the limits of spells. You have supremacy over Death as my champion, so every soul, every Reaper, all the magic in my Realm is for you to use at your leisure."

"And what about my duties?"

"They vary. All that I am unable to do, you will do, as an Avatar of Death." It says. "My Realm is divided into three. There is Limbo, Purgatory, and Nirvana. You are free to visit Limbo as that is where Tom Riddle's soul lingers, and you can visit Nirvana as well, because your ancestors and parents are there, but I would suggest you stay away from Purgatory for now. I must first teach you how to protect your soul from the stain that is forever present in that part of my Realm."

"Very well." Harry agrees, slowly.

It doesn't seem like much is expected of him, and the gifts are incredible compared to his duties, so he doesn't have much to bitch and moan about. But Harry knows his luck, and know that one way or another, something will go terribly wrong sooner or later and he'll be forced to do a heap of work.

"How pressing is the matter of these pale beings?"

"It can be left alone for awhile." Death answers.

"Unfortunately, you will have to investigate it all before attempting to get to the root of the problem."

Harry removes the cup from his robes, letting it crumble into dust as the piece of Tom Riddle's soul hovers above his hand. "Go, join the other parts of you." He tells it.

Then, he turns around to Death. "I thought I'd enjoy breaking him, the other Tom Riddle. But since other things have come to light I find myself annoyed at the prospect of dealing with that child. I have to stop that rebellion and stop Grindlewald."

"Do you really, Master?" Death asks. "All you need now is to find Nagini, Slytherin's locket, and the ring. The dairy will soon be created and you can stop all of this, leave this world and its people to sort out their own problems. You don't owe them anything."

"I don't owe them anything." Harry repeats. "I'm doing this because I want to. I want to do this, truly. It's the only thing I want right now."

Death smiles, her wrinkly face wrinkling up even more. "Then I will serve you well, Master. I will serve you well."

.............

A maniacal giggle slips through Eileen's lips, and Harry shoots her a surprised look from where he's leaning on the ledge of the stands overlooking the Quidditch fields.

"Everything alright, Eileen?"

"Quidditch season began this morning." She says, grinning sharply. The wind is blowing somewhat strongly, and they've both been forced to tie their hair back.

"I didn't know you liked Quidditch." He says, looking back at the Quidditch fields.

"I don't." She says, as she starts walking away.

Harry huffs in confused amusement. She'd begged him to accompany her here this morning during breakfast at the Great Hall, knowing that he had no class after lunch and couldn't come with an excuse not to. She'd been going on and on about how the school year was about to get really exciting.

She clearly didn't like the sport itself, but perhaps she liked the violence that was usually there, because a lot of Slytherin's did. They were known to fix matches, the lot of them, and they loved to bet and hope someone would get an injury.

Harry tries to ignore the gaze boring into the side of his face, and but all his amusement has started to sour. No wonder Eileen had left so abruptly, she threats would be flying around soon. Gods, he'd been hoping to have a nice and quiet afternoon this friday, but no, Riddle just loves to take the 'quiet' out of everything.

"She's incredibly gifted and intelligent. It confuses me why she keeps your company."

"Funny, I didn't know you valued intelligence at all." Harry counters.

"Oh?"

"The company you keep leaves alot to be desired."

"Even fools have their uses." Tom says with a scoff. Then he adds, "Is that something they teach you at your Princling school?"

"What?"

"Turning words into blades."

There it is, there he goes again trying to pick a fight. Does he not know what a truce means? And if he's honestly going to pick a fight every now and then, why isn't it the least bit interesting? Every Pureblood learns as they grow older, how to use words as weapons. And there's not a person in Slytherin who doesn't know how much he enjoys intellectual conversations and word spars. Harry knows his continued indifference to everything is making it hard for Riddle to actually find something that he can annoy him with, but this 'Princling school' business is very unoriginal. Riddle's game is off. If Harry cared, he'd wonder why that is? Why the other boy was acting like some little boy pulling at a girls pigtails because he liked her.

.....

...

..

.

Oh.

No no no, fucking no. Erase erase. Heavens no!

"That amongst other things." Harry says, trying very hard to act calm. All he really wants to do is curse Riddles genitilia off. And crush it under his boots. No, maybe magik it away. Or burn it with an Incendio. Better yet, why doesn't he just summon cursed flames and burn all of him. "Princling School? Heard the rumours then?"

"Yes, I've heard all about the Thorned Prince of Lithuania. Why is it that you made your way down to the British Isles, using a long dead name? It honestly deludes me.

Are looking to perhaps practice politics with the people in this school? The Slytherin court, some say, very much emulates the form of a ministerial court. I've heard Hogwarts is particularly famous for that, amongst other things.

But honestly, do you think they'll let you lead? You? A foreign bloodline thief?"

Harry blinks back at Tom in surprise. "What are getting at?"

"I'm only making an observation." Tom says innocently.

"Go make your observations elsewhere." Harry dismisses him, already bored again. At least the shock wore off quickly.

Tom chuckles. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"Hmm." Harry hums with an eyeroll, uninterested. He's been thinking alot about the pale beings. The thought of them keeps him awake, haunts him even in his dreams. Not like literally, but still. It can't exactly be considered an easy feat to unnerve Death itself.

He clenches his jaw, wanting to grimace. His Shadow has been gone for two whole weeks now, trying to retrieve Newt Scammander. Harry loathes the fact that he's been reduced to calling on Dumbledore's man, but they've got a common enemy if the events from New York are anything to go by.

He only has one Shadow left, and said Shadow is the one out looking for Newt. The others have been left back in Vilnius, because they along with Lukas are planning an important mission. Dr. Dvorak is very much still poisoning his little brother, and they have to get him out of there as soon as they find a safe place and a good Healer to tend to him. Unfortunately, it's not easy. They can't truly trust anyone and they don't know that many people they can ask help from.

Even then, Harry doesn't know what biological material has been taken from his little brother, hair or blood? It could be anything, and those things can be used to find him through skrying or locator spells. Harry can't risk any of his brothers being found outside of the protection of thier home, because they'll surely die.

And it kind of terrifies him more than anything. How much he cares for them, even now, when his emotions are equivalent to that of a spoons.

"That's new." Tom says. "That look."

Harry turns to look at him, annoyed at having his internal freak out disturbed. He was even starting to forget Riddle was there. "What look?"

"I've seen you nervous, I've seen you amused, I've seen you angry, I've even seen you happy. But I've never seen you scared."

"So?"

"I'd like to know the kind of terror, that could put that look on the infallible Hadrian Peverell...or is it Adomaitis Danilewicz?" He says, animatedly.

"You know what, fuck it." Harry turns to face him fully. "I've spent the better part of this week trying to hammer it into my head that you're a threat, but I realise now more than ever what a waste of precious time that was. You're just a child.

You may be gifted, very intelligent and mature, and you may probably even be the brightest of minds in this castle, but you're still a child and you think like one. You don't really know what the world is like, the darkness that is out there.

I have no doubt you've seen a glimpse of it, I'm sure, but you don't know it true horrors. You see fear on my face and think it's weakness, but fear is not weakness Riddle. Fear is why I never underestimate my enemies." Harry says. "I'm tired of overestimating you, I'm tired of thinking you possibly pose a threat to my safety. I mean, you couldn't even kill me right. You're an insistent bug, flying around my periphery, trying to gain my attention, trying to seem like more than what you truly are... Which is a scared little boy. Oh yes, I see you Riddle. You're a scared little bitch like all those Pureblood idiots you loathe."

Harry can feel the pressure of Tom's magic rise around him, can feel it run its sharp and sinuous trendrils around his body, ready to strike at moment's notice.

"I'm going to kill you." Tom promises.

"Make sure the arrow strikes true this time, because if I live...if I live Tom Riddle." Harry warns him.

Tom clenches his jaw so hard, Harry somewhat feels for it. The he turns and leaves.

"You've got a pair of balls on you."  
It just doesn't end with these snakes. Harry clenches his hand around the Elder wand, wanting very much to curse Alphard into oblivion.  
He's been avoiding the other boy for awhile now, because somehow he seems to be in every corner, walking up and to him and trying to start a conversation.

"Black." He grounds out, sounding annoyed and very unfriendly.

"Peverell, I don't think we've officially yet." Alphard Black says.

"No, we have not." Harry says, uninterested again. "Say your piece, and begone with you."

"There's no need to be unfriendly, I was only looking to—"

"Find out about who I am? Get some dirt on your cousin Orion? Figure out why I've got a bone to pick with Riddle? Is that what you want to ask?"

Alphard swallows hard, pupils blown. Odd thing he is. "Am I that obvious?" He observes. "Or are you just that good at reading people?"

"No, I'm not." Harry counters. He dusts his elbows where he was leaning on the ledge, before starting to walk away. "You're just underwhelming and predictable, like the majority of the people in this Castle."

"Wait." Alphard says. "I wanted to ask if I accompany you to Hogsmead tomorrow."

Harry stops walking. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want to go to Hogsmead with me tomorrow?"  
Harry turns around, a frown on his face. He'd rather eat his left hand, but...maybe there could be something to be gained from this.

"For what reason?" He asks, slowly.

"Like, on a date?"

"Hmmm." Harry hums. "I'll think about it." Then he walks away.

..............

"You said you'd think about it?" Orion repeats, slowly.

"What was I supposed to say?"

"No?" Loiros says, with a shrug. "Alphard is a well known womanizer."

"I'm not a woman." Harry says to the other boy.  
"No, you aren't." Orion adds. "But still, why would you want to think about it?"

"I was being nice."  
"If you want to be nice, then go out with a Hufflepuff." Loiros says, lying fully on Harry's bed. "Or better yet, a Gryffindor. A mudblood Gryffindor."

"The Slytherin's hate me enough." Harry says, looking through the cupboards for his box of teabags. "I understand the benefits that come with rubbing shoulders with a Black."

"Aren't you rubbing shoulders Eithne?" Orion asks, smirking.

"We're friends, Orion, that's totally different."

"How about you agree to Fleamont Potter's invitation?"

Harry turns around and blinks at him. "We're cousins, Loiros."

"Distant cousins. So distant you could barely even be considered as cousins." Orion adds, unhelpfully. "I'm to marry Walburga, and she's my cousin. Literally. She's my father's niece. Her father is my uncle."

"You know, inbreeding—"

"Yes, yes, I've heard all about inbreeding. Everyone likes to make a joke of it, like I actually want to fuck my cousin. You know that my children will most likely inherite the Black madness, or they'll probably be deformed in one way or the other." Orion cuts him off.

"We could kill her?" Harry says, with a snap of his fingers.

"I feel like you jump to that option very quickly these days." Loiros says. "But it is an option nonetheless, Orion. We can kill her, for free even."

"It would be quick and painless." Harry promises.

"And we'd get rid of her body."

"I even know the perfect place to dump it."

Orion taps his chin pensively, "Let's revisit this conversation again in the future."

Loiros cracks up in a very un-pureblood-like manner.  
"You're a bad influence, Hadrian."

"So I've been told." Harry says. "But let's get to business. Have you heard anything this week?"

"Remember when I told you about that quil I had charmed last time I was home?" Orion questions.  
"Yes." Harry says, tea all but forgotten. He remembers that Orion had charmed it to record everything it was used to write.

"I had my mother owl it to me last night. It sang like a bir, I tell you."

"What do you know?"

"Besides Ukraine, Poland and Bulgaria, the Japanese have joined Grindlewald's movement."

Harry looks at Loiros, who, whilst looking away, says. "I've heard the same too."

"Damnit." Harry snarls out. It was better when it was just families and the odd person, but now whole countries were joining into this madness. "Loiros, please give Orion and I a moment alone."

"I'll be in my dorm if you need me."

The blonde stands and fixes his tie and shirt, before walking out of the room.

"Did you have to dismiss him?"

Harry throws a privacy charm at the door before asking. "What bloody reason do the Japanese have for joining that German menace?"

Orion shrugs. "They've never been silent about how much of a hindrance the International Statue of Secrecy is. They've got the most overworked Obliviation Department next to China, what with their over abundance of Magical Creatures, Dragons being the lot of them. And the War being waged is taking its toll on the Magical Community, it's limiting their economic development and has started to raise a number social issues. Hadrian, people are starving there. They don't really have any other option."

Harry closes his eyes, biting his lip. "This is why I hate war."

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know how I can change these kind of issues, Orion. Not at my current position."

"You're a Prince, you have more power than the average man. And one man can change the world, Hadrian."

"I need to kill something."

"What you need is a day out at Hogsmead. Just, forget about all the shit tonne of crap we're in, and go out on a date with Alphard Black or Fleamont Potter—"

"I'm not going out with Potter." Harry says, disgusted.

"I know, I know. But just let loose, be a regular sixteen year old and have fun."

Harry sighs deeply. He's been doing that a lot lately. But Orion's idea sounds like it could be fun. And maybe Alphard Black can provide some amusement.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a whole month of silence, sorry about that you guys. The weirdest thing happened, I guess. My contract wasn't renewed at work so I've been chilling at home doing nothing. Well, no, I've been trying to move on from my last relationship. It shriveled up into nothing. And this new one does not seem like it's doing any better. I'm convinced I will die alone and get eaten by my cats because yes! I'm getting a cat (more soon after that) as soon as I move out of my current living situation. Basically a bunch of us were let go, luckily for me I'd already left so I didn't get sick with those that did, because Ms Rona got them. They shut down the office, they shut down the Deputy Prime Minister's office... I think we're all gonna die honestly, which has got me super worried. I can't even sleep anymore. Insomnia is the worst. I'm really sorry that I keep venting to y'all, but my parents are weird about depression and my sister and I kinda had a falling out a while ago. Yes, it's all terrible terrible things just happening.   
> But I'm dealing with it better. I think. I dont know. I've never actually been through this before. This level of fuckery. But anyways, the chapter is complete, has been for days. Believe me when I tell you I just didn't have the will to edit it or anything, but I took a walk this morning, cleared my mind and went at it. I really hope you enjoy it you guys, and please comment too, I wanna hear your thoughts.
> 
> Enjoy😋

"Supreme Mugwump, Ministers, Presidents, Directors and Dignitaries, I greet you all." Hanibalo says. "Thank you for attending this emergency International Confederations of Wizards meeting at behest. I know it has only been less than an hour since you all received the summons.

Take note that the meeting began at 1700hrs, Greenwich Mean Time." He says to the ICW appointed scribe.

"I'm working under the assumption that a majority of the attendees have no doubt received Pensieve memories of the last meeting and have reviewed them like is mandatory, so I'd like to skip recapping those minutes, as we will not be discussing anything from our last meeting. 

Unfortunately, this meeting may be the last of its kind for a long time, depending on how we conclude it. I have, through a credible source, received that not only are entire family lines, barring children, joining Grindlewald's acolyte, but entire government bodies as well."

There's an immediate breakout of mummers, and more than a few suspicious looks thrown around the room. In hindsight, he couldve broken the news in a better way (but he couldnt, he can't), as fights are bound to break out, which is why Hanibalo had insisted that countries bring dignitaries, ministerial or monarchical representatives (they've been sugarcoating everything that involves Grindlewald, because he's not just Germany's shame anymore, he's a problem the collective Magical Ministries have failed to neutralize).

Unfortunately, it seems that a majority of the countries have ceased to underestimate just what a threat the German wizard is, as a majority of their leaders are in attendance even after Hanibalo deliberately made it inconvenient for them to attend knowing how busy their schedules often are and how they needed at least a few days warning in advance.

"Impossible, I refuse to believe such." Minister Intef, of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic, says.

"The American Ministry received the same kind of intel." Seraphina Picquery, President of Magical Congress of the United States of America, says, standing up. "We would've brought this to ICW's attention as soon as we were absolutely sure it wasn't a ploy to alienate the countries mentioned."

"I'd eat my own fingers before trusting anything said by American trash." Mathilda Bones, the British Ministry's Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, says with a scowl. "They're the lot that let him go."

"Mr. Grindlewald was no longer under MACUSA custody or jurisdiction when he escaped. He was being escorted back to his country by an envoy that was handpicked by the German Ministry of Magic itself." She counters. "And if I remember correctly, we argued amongst each other for hours in this very same boardroom before it was agreed that the American Ministry would not execute or try Mr. Grindlewald for his crimes, but that he would be given back to his continent and they would do to him as they saw fit."

"Are you implying that the German Ministry is responsible for his escape, Present Seraphina?" Minister Schmidt, of the German Magical Ministry asks with a raised brow. "Because I'd like to remind you that the reason he escaped was because of one of your own men.”

Hanibalo doesnt say that killing him when they caught him wouldve sorted out part of the problem they have here.

The Chinese Dignitary, Lee Minho, scoffs. "I can't help but think we would not be here, having this conversation, if the German Ministry had gotten rid of Gellert Grindelwald before he became a real problem." There are hums of agreement all around the room. "And I also find it very funny, that Germany is the same country that catalyzed the growth of Gellert Grindlewald's movement to such a large proportion."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have no time to quarrel amongst each other." Hanibalo cuts in swiftly before the situation escalates any further. "Although you've brought forth rather compelling arguments, pointing fingers and making accusation is not why we are here.   
What we need to focus on is the fact that for a while now all we've done is treat the symptoms of the matter at hand. The time to hit the source of the problem, to destroy the cancer so to speak, has already passed."

"These countries you speak of, King Hanibalo, who are they?" Lee Minho asks.

"For obvious reasons, I'd rather not say." Hanibalo says, slowly.

His decision is met with obvious disapproval, but he, and he suspects Seraphina, can see some tension fall from a few of the people in the room. 

"Believe me, that is the last thing I want to do, but this is neutral territory and I at the very least will not condone any sort of violence."

Two men seated directly opposite to Hanibalo stand up, having been whispering something between each other a moment before. 

"My name is Rwagasore Skolastik. I am here to represent the interest of the Central African Magical Community."

"And I am ZazizaSempumalanga Ndlangamandla, representing the Great Clans of Zimbabwe, Zambia, Mozambique, Namibia, South Africa, Swaziland, Botswana and Lesotho. We would like to know more about this Grindlewald character who is causing so much strife."

"Mr. Skolastik, Mr. Ndlangamandla, we as the ICW thank you for attending this meeting. I personally know how difficult it is bringing diverse Clan's under one interest." Hanibalo says in greeting, nodding respectfully at the two. "Gellert Grindelwald is a former Drumstrang student-"

"He was expelled from Drumstrang." The Bulgarian Minister says quickly. 

"Yes, we are aware of that, Minister Yankovic." President Picquery says.

Hanibalo takes the moment to cast a disapproving look on the man for interrupting him. "I will have someone give you a full account of his origins and past exploits, as I fear we do not have enough time to go through them all." He says.

"Then what are we here for?" ZazizaSempumalanga asks. 

"To come up with a comprehensive solution that will benefit the international Magical Community as a whole. Our main objective is to limit any threat to the International Magical Statue of Secrecy Law that was decreed in 1684." The Supreme Mugwump, says, speaking for the first time today. "Grindlewald is a fanatic that believes wizards and witches should not hide from Muggles, No-mag, Zimphemphe, or whatever you call non-Magical beings. He believes that they are dangerous and must be exterminated or enslaved."

The Africans dignitaries don't seem to like that idea at all if their expressions are to be interpreted correctly.

"Objectively speaking," ZazizaSempumalanga starts "why isn't every nation here receptive to the idea? It's not like you havent done it before." He says this looking directly at Mathilda Bones.

Hanibalo watches with barely concealed amusement as a few people in the room shift around uncomfortably. President Picquery is not even hiding her amusement. The thought is a bit biased, but this is ZazizaSempumalangas truth, what his non-magical counterparts have been suffering for generations. For them, it would just be like switching oppressors.

"Grindlewald was largely ignored by the International Magical Community because his activities outside of Germany could not be pinned back to him. He'd already gathered quite a following before he set about to the world and most of what he did came off as humanitarian work, he did kill off the worst of the muggles."

Hanibalo himself did not see an issue with what Grindleward was doing, some muggles were truly terrible. It was only because Adomaitis sat him down and showed him what power muggles truly possessed, and ever since that day hes been unable to think of them as inferior, weak yes, but not inferior. 

"They started to killing muggles indiscriminately, infants even, and it may have been frowned upon, but they were muggles and thus not our concern. Grindlewald was branded with a criminal status when his acolytes started murdering wizards, witches and wizarding families that would not follow hi. The ICW could not sit back any longer"

Hanibalo isn't blind to the kind of morally grey waters the ICW is skirting on for such actions, but they'd learned the hard way never to involve themselves in Muggle affairs. 

"If you aren't willing to tell us which governments have joined Grindlewald's movement, then how will we go about finding a solution to this issue?" Skolastik asks.  
Hanibalo sighs. They're going to be here for awhile then.

.................

"I'm surprised you agreed to this." Alphard says, a smirk making its way onto his lips.

"No one is more surprised than I am." Harry says under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing surprising about it, Alphard." Harry says, louder this time, subtly rolling his eyes. "Getting to know someone outside of the walls of the classrooms is always an interesting endeavour. Especially when they're a fellow Slytherin."

"Is that so?" He says, giving Harry what he assumes is a supposed to be a flirtatious look.

Harry just smiles back at him, barely holding back from grimacing. "Yes."

There's an awkward bit of silence where neither of them say a word.

"So, why do you still want to be called Hadrian even though everyone knows your real name?"

"That's because legally, it is my name."

"Right." Alphard says, nodding. "Um, why didn't you introduce yourself as Adomaitis to begin with? I mean, it would've been easier on you if everyone knew you were a Prince rather than a mudblood."

"It was a matter of security." Harry says. "As a Peverell I could handle a couple Heirs trying to kill me. But as a Prince, there's a hell lot more people, much more powerful, that would prefer if I stopped breathing."

"Seems like that didn't work out though?" he questions, more than states.

"Actually, it did." Harry corrects him. "The whole time you lot were worrying about my blood status, my protection detail was covering every inch of the castle and making sure that no one would try anything without my prior knowledge."

Alphard nods his head, impressed. "Did you do the same thing in your previous school?"

"There was no need." Harry says. "You're well aware that there are number of neutral territories that were decreed, all around the world. My old school sits on one of them.

It keeps the high profile students safe, incredibly so. And of course, a number of those who'd like me dead send their own spawn there as well so they can't really blow the place to kingdom come."

"It still baffles me that Platinumburg Academy is only 200 years old, but it's gained much prestige." Alphard says.

"Well, their curriculum is unique and exclusive. It's worth every knut learning there."

Harry thinks fondly back to some of the reactions his true name garnered. There was alot of choking on spit, exploding cauldrons in the potions lab, walking into walls, falling down the stairs (his favourite). There was even one idiot that burst into tears when he bumped into Harry.   
The raven had been caught between cursing the simpering idiot or laughing at him, but had instead offered him a helping hand and apologized. It disgusted him a little that as a Griffindor he would've helped the boy, without a second thought.

Deep breaths Harry, he thought. The price of benevolance was too high it seems.

Alphard sighs, his happy demeanor changing into a sombre one. His whole mood suddenly matches the grey clouded sky. Or at least, he'd like Harry to think so.  
"Why do I get the feeling that the last place you want to be is right here, with me?"

"What makes you say that?" Harry says, trying to sound interested. Although he's finding that hard to do, what with his eyes looking anywhere but Alphard.

"I mean, it's not so hard to believe, what with you..." he says, gesturing at Harry. "I'm just mediocre Alphard, with mediocre genes and mediocre grades."

"I'm surprised you think of yourself in that way." Harry says, head tilted in curiosity. "You know, seeing as you're a womanizer and all that."

"At least 'that' amounts to something."

Harry grumbles out something under his breath suddenly and with a sarcastic tone.

"What?"

Harry grimaces, finally letting all pleasantries take a back seat. "Stop it, please. Acting pathetic and clenching your ass cheeks in hope of impressing me will get you nowhere."

Alphard smirks. "Okay then, but only if you tell me why you're on this date with me."

Harry rolls his eyes, having seen this coming a mile away. "It's to make Riddle jealous."

"Are you serious?" Alphard exclaims. "I didn't think you and Riddle were together." Pause. "Are you together, because he doesn't seem like the kind to do normal things like courting.''

"No." Harry spits. "For some reason, I'm just good at telling when someone's attracted to me." Which is something new. Harry Potter was as dense as they came, to say the least.

"So you just guessed that Riddle wants you?"

"More like he wants to own me or something along those lines." Harry says. "And I didn't guess. I know it for sure."

Alphard huffs, surprised. "So then, you're using me."  
Harry scoffs. "Don't pretend like you're hurt. And don't pretend like you aren't using me either."

"I genuinely—"

"What? Want to become my lover?" Harry asks with a raised brow. "I may not be the Crowned Prince, but I still deserve better than mediocre genes and" he gestures at the other boy. "mediocre Alphard."

Alphard clenches his jaw, clearly annoyed. But he lets out a tense, dark laugh a moment later. "So what happens to me now? I'm sure the whole school's talking about this, and Riddle must already know."

"Surely you must've come about this with an alternative plan? You know, at the very least, how much Riddle loathes me." Harry says, shrugging. "Are you really a Slytherin, Alphard? Because this is not very Slytherin of you."

"Didn't you just say he likes you?"

"I inspire both feelings in him. That says more about his character than any other action of his that I've observed." Harry says. "Makes me wonder what he'll do to you. I mean he likes me and he's already threatened my life twice and almost succeeded once. What inspired you to come up with this ridiculous plan of yours?"

Alphard gives him a surprised stare, before it melts into something slightly nervous. "I was supposed to find out something worth mentioning."

Harry laughs. It's full bellied, bubbly laugher. Gods, how hilarious! Just what he needed to brighten his day. "Well, did you find out something worth mentioning?"

A groan makes its way up Alphard's throat. "Fuck."

"Fuck, indeed." Harry says, still smiling brightly. "You know, this has been fun and all, literally, I swear it to the gods above and all, but I think I should've let Fleamont accompany me here instead of you. Oh, and your face just went paler than usual, you should probably go to the infirmary. Too—"

Something explodes right in the middle of them, and a moment later Harry's head makes contact with the slab of stone on the bridge, his ears ringing so loudly and shrilly that his head rings twice as much. He passes out for a moment, or two, but fights to stay conscious, even though his body is probably screaming bloody murder.

He thinks, for one moment, if Alphard cursed himbut no, the other boy is on the ledge of the bridge, his face bloody now where it was pale a moment ago, centimetres away from slipping and falling onto the otherside. 

He doesn't think too much about it when he tugs the other boy so that he falls on the bridge (there are probably sharp rocks down there and freezing water, his body doesn't need that on top of everything. Harry may dislike him, but hes Orions cousin and Sirius uncle). 

He tries to get up using his arms but fierce pain on his left has him stopping with a pained moaned.

"I'm surprised he survived this." Someone says, from right behind him. "But it vorks either' vay."

A German?

"Are yu' sure this iz 'im?"

And a French woman?

'Grindlewald's men, Master' Death explains. 'Shall I move you from this area to somewhere safe?'

'No.' Harry immediately disagrees. 'They got me fair and square. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings like I should've been.'

Harry can already hear sounds of terror and confusion coming from the epicenter of Hogsmead, mostly, and he can hear the sounds of spell fire and explosions. He wishes he was there at least, but he's stuck with what seems to be a broken leg...and yes, a possible concussion, which even though they're already healing, are still very painful.

"So we wait for 'im to die?"

"The mission clearly stated" the man is cut off when his partner gurgles out blood, her stomach severed open and her insides sliding onto the cobblestone.  
He turns around, wand raised, but he falls a moment later, blasted off the bridge with a curse.

"What do we have here?"

Harry groans miserably. "Riddle, you have impeccable timing."

Riddle scoffs. "No one is allowed to kill you but me."

"Right." Harry agrees with an eye roll, sitting up gingerly.

"Your legs is a mess." Riddle comments, unhelpfully.

"I didn't notice." Harry says, casting a wordless numbing charm on his leg. "Give me a moment will you." 

He closes his eyes, not wanting to see his bone sticking out as he resets it. Then softly, he chants "Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur," and his bone perfectly aligns and his skin starts knitting shut.

It's a bit superficial and brittle, but the healing factor that came with his immortality is already remedying that.

"You know how to heal?"

"I know a lot of things." Then he gets up, visibly wincing. He feels like hes been run over by a herd of hippogriff. Responding to the bloodlust he can feel rising from the other, Harry gives Riddle a long contemplative stare, before saying. "Truce, remember?"

Riddle gives him a raised brow that does nothing to hide his venomous glare. How he can get his expression to do that is beyond Harrys comprehension of how facial muscles should work. 

"Want to earn an appreciation award? Help with the evacuation."

Riddle nods easily. "What's your plan then?"

"No more entrail removing curses for one." Harry snarls. "We help the students, disarm or stun anyone who's attacking."

"Very well." Riddle agrees. "Let's do this, Peverell."

..................

Gellert takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly, before turning away from the painting he was admiring.

It could best be described as vomit, black, red, grey, yellow, blue, green and white melting together into a story of death and suffering. He took it off the hands of some muggles who were trying to smuggle it and other displaced magical artifacts to Southern Africa, deserters from the Muggle war hed later found, trying to get as far away from the fighting as possible. Hed relished burning their filthy muggle hands for laying their hands on things they had no right to. 

For some reason that strikes him odd, possibly some obscure and impressive bit of transfiguration and charms, the painting has the ability to convey horror and despair (a terrible thing, he supposes) almost literally, he can feel it in his bones, as the pictures shifts between impressions, not sticking to just one of the aspects war. Of course muggles wouldn't ever truly see it the same way someone with magic would, but they could still be affected by what it made them feel. He could understand their greed because of that, but it did not save their lives in the end. This was why he appreciated magic so much, there was so much to learn, the possibilities were endless. 

"Albus." A bit startled to see said man leaning on the door of his study, well, the study in their current safe house. He's getting good at hiding his presence, an admirable level to achieve what with Gellert being magically sensitive.  
Gellert casts all thoughts of those filthy muggles from his thoughts, even though the memory of them running around without eyes (because he'd gouged them out himself) and charred stumps for hands whilst his men played with them, because Albus was good at catching that train of thought.

"Lert." Albus replies softly.

"You look good." His insides immediately protest when the words leave his mouth.  
Gods above.

It unnerves him how uncooperative his mind is when this man is in his presence.  
Albus snorts, blue eyes twinkling in amusement. "You saw me just last week, and you said the exact same words."

"It's true." Gellert says. "You look good, better, everytime I see you."

Albus walks forward, smiling enigmatically. "The chess pieces have fallen into place. Our dream is about to come true."

Gellert smiles at him, widely. "Yes." 

He starts to walk to the door, there are things to do after all but Albus grabs his wrist, eyes downcast, his smile still there, dimmer than it was a moment ago, but still there. "Always and forever."

"For the Greater Good."

He leans down to place a kiss on Albus' lips, but a hand to his chest stops him. 

Albus looks him in the eye, smile more apologetic than anything else and Gellert sighs a bit. Still guilty about Ariana then, he thinks, stepping back. "I'll return soon. Go, you have appearances to keep."

And Albus, he watches Gellert for a moment before apparating away.

................

Lukas walks briskly into the ICW Lithuanian headquarters, knowing that it's only moments before shit hits the proverbial fan, and he needs to get his father out of here, out of the states that would mean them harm.

The war has begun; they've lost the first round.  
His shadows follow behind him, concealment magiks cast aside, dark and menacing so that everyone who's in his path jumps and scurries away quickly when he walks past.

He barges into the room, cutting off some Asian man mid-sentence and goes directly to his father.  
"We need to leave, now." He whispers furiously into his ear.

Hanibalo waves a hand distractedly, making the air around them shimmer briefly. A ward against eavesdropping, one he'd cast so many times he could now do wandlessly.

"Lukas—"

"She's made the first move."

His father stares him in the eye, blood red eyes narrowing into slits. "When?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes."

"Your brother?"

"Safe."

"Go, I'm right behind you."

"Father!" He whispers loudly, angry, scared. "Please."  
"If I leave now, all our efforts will be for nothing." 

Hanibalo says, softly. "You knew you'd have to lose a piece at some point."

"Not like this."

"How then?" He asks, softly but Lukas can see what he means in his eyes. "I've taught you well. You will make a great King, regardless of the outcome of this."

Lukas feels his breath hitch; his face muscles twitch a couple seconds before he brings his expression back under control. "Very well."

He closes his eyes, lets a blank mask slip onto his face. 

The he turns around and leaves.

Fifteen minutes ago, maybe more, his Uncle seized control of the Ministry. The strongest, politically and magically, of his fathers supporters were slaughtered and killed so systematically and efficiently, Lukas himself couldnt help but admire the method. They'd obviously been planning something like this for a while, and even though his shadows had tailed the men Dr. Dvorak would regularly meet with, they never eluded to planning something of this magnitude. 

They hadn't just killed the men at the Ministry, but they'd gone to those that were in their homes, terrorized children and defenseless men and women, slaughtered a large number of those that could've posed a threat to their coup and the stability of the country following.

Lithuania had been invaded by two advancing German army groups, one occupying the north and west, and the other occupying most of the Vilnius Region just two years ago and the Magical folk had been in uproar, pleading with his father to do something about the situation, as about 4000 people were killed, 127 of which were Wizards and Witches. Vilnius was theirs, they said, more than Lithuania had ever been.

The King had had his hands tied, unable to really use force to expel the Germans because his oath to not in any way jeopardize The International Statue of Secrecy required it of him. Hanibalo in turn asked them to weather the storm, they'd only just recently gained independence from Imperial Russia, he foresaw the end to the war soon.

That is when Lukas can claim his grandmother (he uses that term very loosely) had taken advantage of the people's terror to saw her deceit. She'd been so careful doing so that it had taken the combined efforts of his, Adomaitis and his fathers most trusted generals to find the source of the peoples growing rebellion. 

The country had just barely united under one banner, one flag, and because of her mechanizations the northern counties would pull away from the Crown, and it would probably take a lifetime to reign them back in under the Monarch (taking back the country would be hard, but taking back the north would be next to impossible, those fuckers were hard to please).

He was just glad his little brother was at Hogwarts, and that Azuolus was safely tucked away on some virgin island somewhere Lukas couldnt find him, healing from being an unwilling pawn in that old power-grabbing hags games. 

Because the real War was at their doorstep.


	13. Chapter 13

" **Sōwilō** , **īsaz**... **ansuz**." is what Tom hears when he wakes up, Peverell saying those words, softly and under his breath.

  
"What are you doing?" He asks, sitting up. His wand is gone, and so are his dress robes.

  
Fuck.

  
Immediately after the thought that the room is cold enters his mind, shivers start to wreck his unclothed body. No wand then.

  
"Farmiliarising myself with our current lodgings."

  
Tom try's to rub the headache growing behind his eyes, but sighs when it brings him no relief. "What happened?".

  
"You got us captured." Peverell says,giving him an annoyed look. "Actually, you got captured and I, acting like a disgusting Griffindor, went after you and got myself caught too."

  
Tom tilts his head to the side, confused. "Why would you do that?"

  
Peverell closes his eyes, his jaw clenched so hard— Tom raises his brow in fascination. A trickle of blood makes its journey from his mouth and onto the floor before he gurgles out the answer, unintelligible though it sounds.

  
"Huh." Tom says, perhaps speechless for the first time in a long time.

  
Peverell then proceeds to spit out the blood, before looking back at the floor, which...which is covered in runes. And a few drops of blood.

  
"You do Ancient Runes, right?" Peverell asks him.

  
"Yes." Tom agrees.

  
"Can you translate these for me?"

  
"I can't, not accurately, since I haven't seen these kind of runes before." He answers, truthfully, which— on any other day he would call absurd and probably have himself committed for. Tom never admits to not knowing something, it's just not in his nature. Why—

  
"Alright. Maybe you'll be able to help me decipher what they are when I'm done figuring out how they all fit together." Peverell says, continuing his leisurely stroll around the room. "They're here for a reason."

  
Tom takes the time to look around the room, finding no windows or doors for them to escape, not even a hole.

The ceiling is exactly like the floor, and so are the four walls around them, white, glowing almost, blemished with runes from corner to corner.  
Tom doesn't know how Peverell will figure out where these runes start and end.

  
" **Ehwaz** , **īsaz**... **kaunan**?" Peverell mutters to himself, rubbing his hair into disarray from frustration. Everytime he says those words, there's a slight tremor to the room, and the writings on the wall grow slightly brighter.

  
"I'm surprised you've gotten that far." A disembodied voice says, coming from every direction. 

  
Peverell doesn't look away from where he's crouched over the floor. "Fuck off." He says, distractedly.

  
How is he not worried?

  
They've been captured by Gellert Grindlewald and he's going to do gods know what to them. In fact, why is Tom the only one fucking shivering from the cold.

  
"No need to be rude, it's unbecoming of a Prince."

  
"Get to point." Harry grumbles.

  
"You know why you're here." 

  
"Because you didn't give back what is rightfully mine? Because you're a delusional megalomaniac piece of House Elf shit?"

  
"Close." The German says, deadpan. "It's because you've mastered the Hallows."  
Peverell rolls his eyes so hard, Tom worries for one brief moment that they won't come back from the back of his head.

  
"And yet here I am, unable to escape, at your complete mercy."

  
"How are you alive then?"

  
"You killed him too?" Tom blurts, his eyes widening in surprise at his loose tongue. What the hell?!

  
The German hums. "So you've been killed twice then?"

  
"Three times actually." Peverell blurts before he can stop himself. Then, he bites his tongue again, because that's what he did before, when his mouth bled. He bit his tongue. Gods, intense much Peverell, he thinks.

  
"So then, if you aren't the Master of the Hallows, how are you immortal? Because I made sure you were dead."

  
Peverell gurgles out something, more blood dripping down his mouth. 

  
Tom turns away, not in the mood to continue watching Peverell torture himself. The runes make then tell the truth, or something along those lines. They can't stop though, because runes need to be read out loud, understood before they're broken, and Tom doesn't even know where these kind hail from, and even if he did, he'd never know how break them because he can't even read them.

  
Depending on someone else is terrifying, he thinks, giving Peverell a side glance. 

...............

Orion is amongst the only few in the Great Hall the next morning. He wishes he could enjoy the peace, because this place is usually overrun with loud and some quite disgusting Griffindor (eating like savages). But all he can think about is the fact that Hadrian is not here. 

  
He and Riddle weren't amongst the students sent to the infirmary for injuries, or even those that were taken to St. Mungos. Orion is sure they're with Grindlewald, even if he doesn't want to entertain the thought. There's no other explanation.

  
He looks down at the Daily Prophet, the headlines aren't looking good either.

  
' **Minister of Magic to review current legislation. Olde Rituals, Dark Magic amongst list.**  
**Pg4 for Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon and his rise to power.**  
**Pg12 for proposed revisions**.'

  
This was probably the worst news any Pureblood could receive early in the morning. Orion feels his heart pang painfully, a severe frown taking form on his forehead.  
"Can you believe this?" Loiros asks, his voice silent, cowed, scared.

  
"Did any of you look at page 15?" Acwel asks, also sounding off.

  
Eileen quickly turns the page to 15 on her copy, eyes widening. "ICW Lithuanian Branch held under Grindlewald's siege! Lithuanian Ministry Coup?!"

  
"Does it say anything about Hadrian or his family?" Orion asks, quickly.

  
"Nothing." She answers. "But it says a number of foreign powers are Grindlewald's captives, including our Head of DMLE, Mathilda Bones."

  
"Merlin." Orion hisses.

..................

'Master, I must insist you leave immediately.' Death says, inside his thoughts 

'What's happened?' Harry thinks back.

  
'That woman has the King.'

  
"Fuck." He says, out loud.

  
"What is it?" Riddle asks, but Harry ignores him.

  
" **Sōwilō** , **ansuz** , **naudiz** , **laguz** , **ehwaz** , **īsaz** , **kaunan** , **ansuz** , **naudiz**!" He says, loudly, finally getting it. "Sannleikann!"

  
The runes glow brightly, blinding them, before sliding down the wall into a puddle of ink. There, right there—Harry wastes no time ramming into the wall, at the point he's sure the runes were the strongest (because that might be the door) but he bounces off it and falls onto the floor in a huff as his breathe rushes out of him.

He gets up and does it again, getting the same result.

  
'There are other runes Master.' Death adds.

  
"What's happening?" Riddle demands, his voice going dangerously cold.

  
"It's Norse Runes. I can only translate them with Icelandic, but the language is incredibly hard to grasp, and I haven't been reading up on these kinds of runes for very long or learning the language for that matter." Harry says. "We need to get out of here now!"

  
"But you aren't going to leave unless I say so." Grindlewald says, his voice coming from all four directions.

  
Oh, how he wishes he could curse the git.  
Harry closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. He sinks down into himself, quickly finding his core and pulling at the magic, maybe he can blow his way out, injuries be damned, he'll kill anything that comes in his way—

  
His magic doesn't respond, doesn't even ripple when he pulls at it.

  
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll let you go."

  
"That's highly unlikely." Harry says, looking at the ceiling. "But I'll entertain your curiosity, for a price."

  
"Oh, and you think you have room to negotiate?" 

  
"I can always go back to trying to escape." He says, getting comfortable by the wall.  
"Then you'll be here for a while."

  
Harry sighs, eyes going closed. "Come back when you're ready to negotiate then."

  
"I thought you said we need to get out of here quickly."

  
Harry gives him a one eyed glare, before closing his eye again. 'Describe the structure of the building for me, Death.'

  
'A house, lavish but not exceedingly so, with one floor and a basement. You're in what I aassume used to be the basement.'

  
'And where is he talking to us from?'

  
'He's not he—Forgive me Master, but there is something that needs my immediate attention. The runes are gebō, dogaz, raīdo, berkanan, nannaz. Free yourself, find the nearest Magical Community and leave this country.'

  
'Wha- Death? Death!?'

  
Nothing. 

  
It must be those pale beings again. 

  
" **Gebō** , **dogaz** , **raīdo** , **berkanan** , **nannaz**." He says out loud. " **Binda** **galdra**! **Mann**!"

  
The walls dims until the room is coated in darkness.

"Riddle! Where are you?"

  
"I'm right here." The other says, next to his ear.

  
Fucking creep!

  
"Get behind me."

  
An alarm goes off, muffled because of the walls but Harry can hear it clearly.  
He raises his arms, palms faced upwards and then let's his magic out in a violent vortex of wind. The ceiling collapses outwards, raining debris and wood all over the room above them.

  
"What spells can you cast wandlessly?"

  
"The stinging hex."

  
"Look at that, you can lie again." Harry drawls. "It'll have to do. Riddle, I'm going to send you up there there first, but don't worry, I'll follow quickly. You're allowed to kill anyone you see before they capture you." The he looks the other boy in the eye, smirking a little. "This will be a bit uncomfortable."

  
Then, he casts a silent Levicorpus, watching as the boy is dragged to the upper room, by the right leg, bouncing up and down. A short laugh slips through his lips, because Riddle looks ridiculous bouncing up and down, upside down, in his underwear.

  
He casts a silent Leviosa on himself before levitating out the basement through the hole above. He feet settle on the wooden floor of what looks to be an empty room. There's a sliding door to his left, tatami beneath his feet and a wooden sealing above.

  
Harry swallows hard, throat suddenly dry.

  
"There's no one here." Riddle says. "Or outside the room."

  
"Can you summon your wand?"

  
"Already tried that. It's either not here or there's an anti-summoning ward over this whole place." 

  
Harry wipes the sweat gathering on his forehead, feeling a bit winded and nervous. "I'm going to find out if we're the only ones here."

  
"Maybe try finding my wand too."

  
Harry rolls his eyes, leaving the room.

He enters a hallway with white painted walls and plywood panels, a wooden sliding door on each side as he walks deeper into the house.

Gods, the hallway is a bit long, but he's already figured out what's happening here. The house is created in Kurazukuri style, Harry only knows this because there was a period of time where Petunia was obsessed with Japanese themes. But that's not important. No, what's important is that they're in Japan and it's 1943. 

  
It makes sense now, why there isn't anyone around. The alarm wasn't so that they could capture him and Tom and return them to that basement rune-room, but it was for Grindlewald's men to know when to evacuate.

They'd taken Riddle's wand, his as well (though he could summon it back if he needed it), and left them somewhere in enemy territory. They were English men, muggle or magical, it wouldn't matter, they'd be killed as soon as someone saw them.

  
A laugh bubbles up his throat and out through his mouth.

  
Fuck.

...............

The breeze blows cold wind into his face, and every part of his exposed skin— Azulous, he doesn't care. It's been so long since he's gotten up and walked, it's been longer since he's been outside, but it must've been years since he's been to the beach. 

  
His heart, though heavy with grief, sings in joy at his renewed health, and even though his is a terrible gift, his Sight, his soul and his body are perfectly aligned. He had Seen this day a year ago, a moment after he'd started getting visibly ill, had known that woman would do just about anything to see her plans come to life, even if it meant silencing a child, solely because he could see everything.

  
She did not care to understand that he was only allowed minimal power to intervene with the fates, that he could only say very little, often things of no real consequence.   
(Azulous knows that him being poisoned was part of a story being written around his life, but he doesn't know what exactly for.)

A quilt, already spelled with warming charms settles on his shoulders, bringing his mind back to the present.

  
"Thank you, Luke."

  
Lukas settles around him, caging Azulous between his legs, and places a delicate kiss on the back of his head, making his ruby red eyes close briefly. 

  
"What do you see, little one?"

  
"Father...he will die." The words are hard to speak, but sometimes hope, especially hope kept over a long time, did more harm than good. It was best they consider thier father as dead, because Lukas would be King to those loyal to the crown, and he would do his utmost to not ruin the image Hanibalo had of him before he died.

  
Arms, strong, pull him into his brother chest, and he is engulfed in a much needed and warm hug. 

  
"And what of Adomaitis?" Lukas asks.  
Azulous frowns up at him. "Adomaitis? Brother...I got the sense that he was no longer amongst the living. He's dead, has been for months."

  
Lukas makes a confused sound. "No, he hasn't. He was home almost a month ago."

  
"No, he has been dead for awhile now." Azulous says, brows furrowed. "I felt him, one moment there and gone the next."

  
"Maybe some of the poison is still in your system? Maybe it's interfering with your visions still?"

  
That is true, Azulous thinks. He's been confused ever since he woke up. But—  
"Brother, even when I was sick I could See. Not nearly as I normally could, I was too weak to, sometimes even to understand what I was seeing. But I mourned our brother, because he's dead."

  
"Look then, look and you'll See him. Because he's alive Azz."

  
Azulous looks to the east, (he somehow always knows where to look) further than he's ever dared to look, because somehow he's stronger than before (can feel it in his bones), and finds his brother, finds him with another who's fate is so intertwined with Adomaitis' own—he would've known this, tethers do not just grow out of trees, he should've been able to see this tether on his brother and it should've lead him back to that British Wizard years ago. 

  
He looks closer, looks at glow of his brothers aura, and gasps at what he Sees.

  
"What is it?"

"He is east, surrounded by enemies."

"I need to go save him then."

  
Azulous tightens his hold around his brother. "No, you cannot interfere. He has already chosen the path that will lead him back to us. If you leave now, you will die."

  
"For my brother, I'd die a thousand times Azz."

  
"Listen to me, Luke. Adomaitis must take this part of the journey alone. He will be alright, nothing can kill him." At the other's scepticism, Azulous says "Death clings to his soul, like..."

  
"Like what?"

  
"It clings to him like it would a Necromancer, protecting him. I think perhaps he made a breakthrough with his 'studies'..." 

  
It wouldn't be too much of a stretch, they are the most powerful Wizards the Royal line has ever produced, and Adomaitis is frighteningly intelligent. 

  
Although, it doesn't really explain why there is suddenly a pureness to his soul that was...never quite there before.

  
Lukas, somehow, tightens his hold. "What do we do then?"

  
"I cannot say more, but things will fall into place soon."

...............

"We've been walking for miles Peverell. Do you have any idea where we are?" Riddle says, almost sounding petulant.

  
Harry has been making them walk for miles, to where, possibly a human establishment. They are still unclothed, which for some reason doesn't bother Harry much, in fact, he can't even feel the cold. (Is it because he's nothing more than a glorified corpse?) Riddle on the other hand, is a shivering mess. 

  
"Can't you conjure yourself some clothes?" Harry asks.

  
"For some reason, I'm still unable to access my core. My magic isn't working."

  
"Probably a side effect of the runes we were under. They were put there to bind our magic, after all."

  
"How the hell were you able to levitate us out of there then?" Riddle asks, mulishly.

  
"I've been under binding runes before, of a different calibre of course, but they had the same intent at the end of the day." He lies. He knows not much more about runes than he read awhile ago. It was just his luck that he'd found Norse runes interesting and had learned the alphabet. 

  
Adomaitis' memories had done the rest.  
"How are you not freezing?" Riddle continue's to complain.

  
"Finally deigned to ask." Harry says, dryly.

"The cold making your mind slow?"

  
"You can perform a levitating spell wandlessly, right? Mind sending a warming charm my way?"

  
"I think not."

  
"I could actually die from hypothermia." Riddle growls out miserably.

"And I'm sure you'd be missed, terribly." Harry says, sarcastic.

  
There's silence for a while before the other boy curses under his breath.  
"I never forget a face." Riddle says, coming to a stop. 

  
"So?" Harry asks, still walking.

  
"Your first night at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, there was recognition in your eyes. That and a healthy amount of resignation."

  
"Your point?" Harry asks, stopping too.

  
"You've hated me since the day you laid your eyes on me. It wasn't after the whole chicken blood debacle, you were too amused to be truly angry when you wanted me us to lick your boots, so I must assume we've met before. Yet I've never seen you a day in my life before you came to Hogwarts."

  
Harry turns around, a smirk making its way onto his lips. Riddle isn't fooled though, that much Harry can tell from the step that he takes backwards, because Harry knows his eyes have gone frigid. Knows that to Riddle, a predator stands before him, fangs out on display, razer sharp talons bared and ready to shred meat from bone. "I suggest you," he says, slowly walking up to the other boy. "keep whatever thoughts and questions you have about my apparent dislike of your person to yourself. Everyday I struggle with indecision, whether or not to kill you. Your continued existence is based solely on that indecision. Feed my ire," he shrugs "and I will end you." 

  
"No!" Riddle shouts, surprising him. "You can go ahead and try to end my sorry existence, but I won't stop digging. Not until you tell me what I did."

  
Harry watches him, eyes narrowed into slits, breathes forcefully calm, hands vibrating.  
But he considers it. 

  
"In your future, there lays an unprenetrible darkness. You will be the amalgamation of all things terrible. You will end lives. You will end peace. You will bring violence, you will bring terror, and you will bring war."

  
Riddle glares at him, though the parlour of his skin is two maybe three shades paler.

"How do you know that?"

  
"Did you miss the conversation I shared with Grindlewald, you know, back in that room?" Then he crowds into Riddle's space till thier noses are touching. "I'm the Master of Death, baby."

The look Riddle gives him is worth sounding ridiculous. It really is.

Actually no, that sounded better in his head.

It's a few hours later before they come to a stop under a tree. They'd somehow managed to find a path made by humans, and had been following it for a while. 

  
Harry had eventually bent and conjured them both t-shirts, jeans and trainers. Riddle had stared at his t-shirt in confusion until Harry conjured a warm fluffy jumper over it. 

  
"Why'd we stop?"

  
Riddle is a whiner. He whines about everything! Whine whine whine. Of course Harry's biased, because everything that comes out of the others mouth sounds like a whine, but it doesn't matter because Riddle's yapping is annoying.

  
"There's a ley line right underneath us."

  
"Isn't that a muggle superstition?" Riddle asks, arms crossed. But just before Harry sighs in aggravation, a small frown makes its way onto his face. "Wait, I can...feel something."

  
"That would be the ley line." Harry says. "They're where Gaia can most be felt."

"Gaia? As in the conscious of Mother Nature?"

Harry turns around with a frown on his face. "Hmm."

  
"I thought She was just fiction."

  
"What do you think magic is then? An evolutionary phenomenon? Yes, we can bend the laws of physics, but there's plenty about magic that doesn't make any sense. Most Wizarding folk rationalize some of these anomalies, and those who actually believe they aren't anomalies but naturally occurring are thought of as eccentric or unhinged. That's why most Governments have a Department of Mysteries and Unspeakables." 

  
"You're telling me more about this later." Riddle says. "Right now want to know what standing here is going to help us with?"

  
"This place right here is considered the heart of the island. If I can align my energy with the ones that flow within this area, I'd be able to tell our exact position on this island and where we can find a magical or even muggle settlement. After that, I'd have access to a map, and using the co-ordinates I'd be able to apparate us to the nearest port. With the help of magic, we'd high tail out of there on boat." 

  
"Right." Riddle says, not in the slightest bit convinced. "Go ahead then."

  
"First, we need to build a camp. We might be here for a while." He says, settling down on the ground and removing his wand from his sleeve. "Go find firewood, I'll take care of the rest."

"Yes, sir." Riddle drawls, before walking away.

Harry takes a deep breathe. He's had plenty of evidence that Adomaitis isn't crazy, but some of the things he learned or even could even accomplish before he died always surprise Harry (and he's the guy that controls Death and travels dimensions).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And so soon too. Wasn't a very long chapter, but only because I wanted to get Azulous waking up out of the way. I hope y'all weren't expecting him to be what he is.  
> For that matter, what is he exactly? I'd like to hear your thoughts on that.😉😊, Maybe you'll find out on the next chapter. But anyways, thank you for the support and the comments and the kudos and the bookmarks! Thank you all!
> 
> The Runes are in fact Norse Runes, and they're all the letter they start with. Ansuz is A and dogaz is D for example. I just used them to spell out some words in Icelandic.  
> The first rune was Truth. And the other ones were Bind Man, and Magik.
> 
> I hope I haven't offended anyone or their culture by using these. And if I have, I can have that scene removed and improvise with my culture or something. I just wanted to use something European because Grindlewald is European. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that! And the rest of the chapter! 
> 
> For those of you that are impatient about some Tomarry scenes, don't worry. There was a thaw in this chapter, I don't know if you saw it, but it was there.


	14. Chapter 14

"Your mother tells me the children somehow escaped."

"That hag isn't my mother." Hanibalo rasps weakly. He's in pain, having spent too long under the Cruiciatus, and even though he's exhausted to the bone he's been unable to sleep. He suspects he's been cursed, but it doesn't matter. Grindlewald can attack his Occlumency shields all he wants, he's not getting through them. And even if he does manage to break them down, there's not a clue in his mind where the boys are hidden.

"I don't particularly care." The German says. "I will find them, you know. And I will eat their hearts, all three of them."

Hanibalo swallows at the promise in that sentence. "Lukas would never let you."

"The boy King of nothing? That weakling?" He asks, amused. "He's no threat. Don't worry though, I won't be underestimating anyone of them, especially that Adomaitis."

Hanibalo almost smirks, because out of all his sons Adomaitis is probably the most dangerous.  
Grindlewald wants to consume their hearts, for what purpose he can only guess. But there's a few reasons why a Wizard would want to consume another's heart and none of them are good. The German is obsessed with it, had mentioned it many times during their torture sessions.

"It amuses you, that I'm cautious of your son?" Grindelwald asks, his head cocked to side, a curious look on his cold features.

"It amuses me that you think any of my children are weaklings. The wind wailed and the earth shook when each of them were born. They carry a hundred different bloodlines and their gifts within them. My children were blessed by the Earth, the Moon and Magik herself." 

Grindlewald scoffs. "How very presumptuous of you."

"You think abilities like theirs suddenly appear after being lost to the world for hundreds of years?" He asks.

The air stills, and that mismatched gaze falls on him with a new and unnerving focus. "What abilities?"  
Hanibalo flexes his jaw, ready to bite his tongue off if need be. He'd deserve it too, for slipping so terribly. There has been, over the years, a growing interest in his sons abilities, Lukas and Azulous more Adomaitis. (It is a poorly kept secret that they were not truly of this world, touched both by Life and Death, especially after Adomaitis let the whole world know he was a descendant from a Necromantic Bloodline.)

He's also just never been able to handle someone looking down on his incredible boys.

"Crucio!"

The pain is gone as soon as it starts, and when he blinks his eyes open he finds his brother's electric blue eyes staring daggers into his own.

"That's enough. I'll take it from here."

Hanibalo closes his eyes again, groaning as he stands up. He will never give Marcus the satisfaction of looking down on him. (Grindlewald is gone as soon as he opens them back up, he doesn't know if he's relieved or much more terrified of what his brother will do to him)

"Did you know Adomaitis is Japan, now as we speak?" He enquires, expression frighteningly blank.

Hanibalo doesn't react outwardly, doesn't even let the rising panic inside of him get out of hand before smothering it. They'd prepared for the worst, Adomaitis will do what needs to be done. "He will be fine."

They stare at each other, the only noise coming from Hanibalo's loud breathing. 

The dungeon is dark, only lit by the single flame by the left wall. The floor is damp, as well as the walls and the very air, bone chillingly cold. 

"You know you're going to die here right?"

"It's been centuries and yet your grandfather's Empire is still grabbing at the straws, trying to gain my country back under its rule."

"Trying to? Look around you brother." The other says, sarcastically. "I will be King soon, and the whole country will fall back under Russian territories."

"Your claim isn't strong enough. And you've made a right mess killing so many public figures. The whole world has its eyes on you now."

Marcus chuckles, except there's nothing happy about the sound that leaves his throat. "The world is at war. No one cares about the political state of a barely recognisable country."

"Go on then, have your way with me. I know you want to."

Marcus raises his wand, his expression going even colder, and then—

Pain.

....................

Tom returns with dry wood, slightly winded, prepared to complain about something (he's got a death wish, and Peverell is incredibly attractive when he's angry), but with a sound of surprise, drops the wood and walks up to their camp.

There's spell fire floating just outside the tent Peverell no doubt conjured, a hole already dug beneath it to hold the fire Tom was just about to start making. He gasps a little, looking around the parameter of their camp, which is glowing with the slightest blue hue of a shield ward. 

That's no easy feat there.

Then after closing his slightly gaping mouth, gods forbid someone actually sees him like that, he sniffs loudly, begrudgingly admitting to being impressed in the safety of his mind, then walks up to the tent to explore.

He'd already guessed, but he's still pleasantly surprised see that Peverell added extension charms, and brilliantly at that, he thinks, looking at the neat little sitting area with a pile of furs and fluffy pillows. There's also a kitchenette by the right corner, there's fresh ingredients under the hum of a preservation charm, adequate, some even unnecessary cooking utensils, and water (it doesn't taste like spell water, Argumenti, which says alot about Peverell's magical talent).  
He checks the other rooms, (because there's two more), starts with the one he assumes is his own, because it's empty and he came upon it first (and he'll fight if he has to). 

It's not anything special, and oh...look, there's even more fur on the ground, Tom thinks with an eyeroll. He doesn't get the obsession. The are Slytherin green drapes around the pile, fine enough to see through, and the tent flaps are grey. It feels like home, a little bit.

"Great." Tom sighs. "Now I have to thank him."

With an annoyed huff he leaves the room and goes to the other one.

"I'm coming in, Peverell. If your bits are hanging, best tuck them back into your pants or leave them, I don't mind." He says the last bit, before entering the other room. "Peverell?" 

Tom walks slowly into the room, feeling the fine hairs on his body rise—there's a presence inside the room, other than Peverell who...is floating in the air.

Tom sighs again, but not relaxing one bit. He's quickly learning to go with the flow wherever the other is involved (but that presence—how is it possible he didn't feel it when he was in the other room. He should've felt it when he was getting wood, or before they even reached camp. It's feels vast enough that he should've felt it when he woke up in this place).

"Peverell?" He calls, walking closer to the other boy. "I'm approaching the bed, slowly as to not...disturb you. Mostly because I'm a little terrified of you." He says the last part under his breath. 

He's saying a lot under his breath these days (probably because Peverell has reduced him to a pervert, like all his hormone ridden peers). One of these days he'll create a spell that will make puberty take on a corporeal form, then he'll practice all on his favourite dark curses on it, and finally end it with the killing curse.

He takes a deep breath. This semester has been particularly trying. There had been instant attraction when those Arvada green eyes met his own, even though Tom hadn't known it then. He'd misunderstood all the signs too, loathed the feelings that had risen in him, and in his mind he'd rationalized killing Peverell would solve the problem. That hadn't worked of course, but he'd been slightly relieved the other survived even though he hadn't thought about that much. 

What really drove in the fact that he wanted to shove Peverell in a broom closet and have a go at it was...well, it was that thought. It had snuck up on him, and Tom is embarrassed to admit he choked on his spit. Again. He'd been doing that alot lately too (his spit would be the next on his killing agenda).

"Can I help you with something?"

Tom blinks confusedly, staring at a frowning Peverell. "Oh, you're done levitating then?" Great. He'd let his guard down thinking about about murder. And it wasn't even murder that made sense.

Peverell gives him an unreadable look, the emotions in his eyes flashing to quickly for him to read , before shrugging. "Did you get the wood?"

"It's outside. I just stepped in to see what you'd done with the place. It's impressive." It seemed that was all his tongue was willing to say. He still has pride after all, frayed as it is.

Peverell grunts before getting up. 

There's something unhinged about the look in his eyes.

.................

They sit by the fire, now natural and not constantly eating at his reserves. Harry had made plates of raisin bread, cheese and grapes for them, and brought it outside so they could enjoy the meal by the fire.  
"Where'd you get this?"

"Had it in my trunk." He grumbles, feeling like hell warmed over. His head is throbbing fiercely and his body feels like it's been run through a blender. His pain tolerance is nothing to scoff at, he'd brushed off a crucio (that may have been because of the adrenaline and fear seeing as Voldemort was trying to end him, but nonetheless the crucio had been brushed off) and he'd been in some pretty painful situations (like that one time he got a giant tooth sized hole punctured onto his arm thanks to Slytherin's basilisk), but this agony was something else. 

And it was growing, trying to overhelm him.

He can feel Riddle's incredulous stare.

"Forget the fact that it's weird you had your trunk with you during your visit to Hogsmead, just help me understand why you had food in there."

Harry rolls his eyes (and regrets it when the headache throbs even harder, almost blindingly painful). "For situations like this."

"You wouldn't have known something like this could happen right?"

Harry sighs through his nose, nibbling on the cheese. Who'd have ever guessed Riddle was so chatty. "It's wise never to keep your guard down, especially in times like these. Anything could happen during war, and the few small things I keep in my trunk, that always stays with me, are the type of things that could make camping like this comfortable."

Riddle hums. "You're not at all like how I expected your kind to be." He continues. "I thought a Prince would act somewhat like Abraxas. Not a care in the world."

"I've never had the luxury." Harry answers, remembering his own childhood and seeing some of Adomaitis' as well. They'd had completely different childhoods but Hanibalo (and how it hurts to say his name, to even think it) had never allowed any sort of slacking off. "My... father was never one to coddle a person, he made my brothers and I aware as soon as we could understand, that any sort of weakness would be the death of us. I've been preparing for this moment right now, for years."

It is somewhat true, because Adomaitis had bought that trunk with an apartment fitted into it for this reason. He'd known there was a possibility he'd find himself on the run, with or without his brothers, and he'd somewhat prepared himself. Harry on the other hand had spent the better part of a year on the run, living in forests like this. He knew how to forage and put up snares to catch small game, knew how to cast extension charms and protection spells. And even though he'd left that situation back at home, seeing Ron, Hermione and his counterpart had brought back memories of the hunger they'd all suffered sometimes. He'd had a Shadow keep the trunk fully stocked with supplies that could last for months under preservation charms.

"You... said I'd bring war." Riddle starts, voice low, hesitant. "How...? What did you see?"

"Hmmm." Harry hums.

Riddle bites his lip, eyes averted. "I've seen war." He says, throat convulsing. "I don't understand..."

Harry sighs, grimacing a bit when his shoulders twinge painfully. "I can't say I know the reason why, not really. I got the sense you wanted to exterminate muggles and muggleborns and have dark magic used freely, but other than that, I can't say I know. What I do know is that too many people will die, innocent people. War is indiscriminate like that."

"And I'll cause it all?" Riddle says, pale and miserable.  
Harry doesn't pity him, he's too high strung to even care right now. "I guess you do." Harry says. He wants to tell Riddle that nothing is set in stone, that he can actually choose a different path but he doesn't. It's not his place to. Or his business really.

(When all of this is done and the war's over, Harry will leave all the information about hocrux's that he knows, to be given to his counterpart when the time comes)

"We're a days travel from Kyoto, even though I'd rather not go there because it's a city, there's a Magical establishment there, I'm sure we can get some kind of help."

"Alright." Tom nods. 

"There's a town, Tottori, north east, about a week's travel, with a harbour. We can board a boat there, go to China. There's less trouble, less hostile people. We can get information, maybe a portkey too then make our way back to Hogwarts."

"Which one do you think is the safest option?"

"None of them are." Harry says, swallowing. "The American's have kept Japanese forces on the defensive ever since their bold attack on Pearl Harbour two years ago. Their egos are bruised, they won't listen to whatever shit excuse we have for being here, they'll shoot first and ask questions later."

"Can't you teleport or something? With your Master of Death abilities that is."

"I could step into Death's Realm, come out the other side in England. But I wouldn't be able to take you. Your flesh would fall off your skin and your bones would turn to dust." He doesn't really know that for sure, but objectively speaking—bringing something alive into a place for dead things doesn't seem like a bright idea.  
Riddle grimaces. "So we're fucked?"

"To put it simply."

"Why aren't you leaving me here then?" 

"Because you'd die without me." Harry says. "Maybe you'd survive for a while, but I highly doubt you'd be able to leave this place without my help. Can you even apparate?"

"No." Riddle grumbles, taking a large bite out his bread. "Still doesn't explain why you aren't leaving me."

"If you want me to leave you so much, then I will." Harry snaps. His heart start to pound quickly, and his chest feels like it's filling with wa—no...no! He's okay. 'I'm fine.' "We made a truce, remember? I may have a healthy amount of self preservation—"

Riddle scoffs, because, yeah, that is so not true.

"—and us ending up here is partially your fault, but a truce is a truce."

"Yeah, except it's not an alliance."

Harry rubs his forehead. He can do this, he only needs to focus on Riddle, even if he's annoying and Harry wants to strangle him.

"Is everything alright? You seem like you're...in pain?" He asks, awkwardly.

'He has a point, Master.' Death says, his presence softly invading Harry's mind.

'Where've you been?' 

'To reap souls, Master. In the most interesting place too.'

'I'm glad you had fun.' Harry thinks, sarcastic. 'I met Gaia. She had a lot to say.'

'Oh?'

'Did you know why Adomaitis really died?' Harry asks.  
'Because he was dabbling in magic he had business with.'

"He died because of YOU!" Harry screams.

Riddle flinches in surprise, giving Harry a wide eyed stare. "E-excuse me?"

'He had enough of Antioch's blood to survive whatever necromantic rituals he performed. You killed him so my soul could take over this body and somehow we rewove the threads fate had so graciously sawn into existence. That's the reason why the war has escalated this much, why so many things are fucked up.' Harry says, livid. 'It's our fault, yours more than mine for putting this ridiculous idea to go on an inter-dimensional crusade!'

'Why do you care?' Death asks, sounding confused.

FUCK!

"Hanibalo is dead." Harry says, feeling the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. He's been avoiding thinking about it, which is stupid. He knows grief, he lost Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks and so many others. This is nothing new. So then why does he feel like his world is falling apart? He's known Hanibalo for no more than two months, it just doesn't make sense why the pain is this crippling. "So many people are dead or dying, and it's my fault."  
Then he blinks his eyes closed, clenching them hard until white spots start to dance behind his eyelids. Why is he...what?!

He needs to breathe. 

Breathe dammit.

His lungs don't get the memo.

'You are not to blame for anyone's decisions Master.' Death tells him, reassuringly. 'Gaia...has always been blind and naive. She has never been able to see the bigger picture. I will reap her one day, sooner than any being of her calibre should ever be. Whatever she told you that has you so distraught, we will take care of together. Fear not Master, fear not.'  
The words don't help, it's almost like he's drowning now—

"Is everything alright?" Riddle asks, tense.

The pain of grief, the anger— it all just disappears.  
Gone like a warm hole suddenly formed within him and sucked away all his emotions. He's numb.

Harry breathes shakily, relaxing. It seems like Death had locked away even more of his emotions.

'A temporary solution. You are coming into your gifts, soon my magiks will no longer work on you or your soul. You are an emotional being Master, my efforts to shield you from all that has happened so far is running its course.'

'Is there a way I can make sure they don't come back? My emotions that is.'

'I would not advise taking that particular route, Master.'

'You're supposed to do as I say, are you not?' Harry asks. 

'Master, your emotions—'

"Whatever." He says, already disinterested. 

Riddle is looking at him like he's insane.

Maybe he is.  
"Am I interrupting a conversation or something?" He asks, looking around as if he'll see whatever it is Harry is talking to.

Harry narrows his gaze at him, bringing a hand up to tap on his chin (blood and all, because he'd been clenching his fists so hard at some point, his nails had done a number on his palms), his expression going pensive. "What was going through your mind when you tried to kill me?"

Riddle swallows, averting his gaze. "Getting rid of you, obviously."

"Did it ever occur to you that you were killing the last male Heir of an Ancient and Noble House? What if you'd gotten caught? Do you know what they would've done to you, the Ministry and the Wizengamot? Do you know what my family would've done to you when they found out? Because they would've found out Riddle." Harry says, enjoying the look discomfort in the other's eyes. "They would've dehumanized you. I'm positive you'd have had your shit for breakfast at some point."

"It's a good thing you didn't die." Riddle says, not really successful at hiding his disgust. 

"Yes, I suppose it is." Harry agrees. Then, abruptly changes the subject to something else, something he should've been thinking more about from the beginning. "You want to live forever too, right?"

Riddle frowns. "Are you...asking or offering?"

Convincing him will take some effort (you don't offer immortality to someone who tried to kill you or who you've not hidden your dislike off, but ah...Harry loves a good challenge), and a bit of research, but it can be done.

Harry smirks, shuffling closer to Riddle. "Do you know what a hocrux is?"

...............

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I killed off another character. Sorry if you loved him.  
> I hope y'all took some notice of Hanibalo's words, because they're very important.  
> I'm very nervous about the next chapter, it'll have some action and I'm not very good at writing action.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! There will be some gore. Like, please just skip to the bottom, I've marked it for anyone that doesn't want to read gore-y stuff.  
> It would be useless reading the chapter, because it's mostly Harry just doing some hard core murder🙈, so I don't know. I hope you're enjoy it though, I really do. I'm nervous though, I'm not very good at writing action. I just hope you enjoy.

By the time Riddle wakes up, Harry's packed most of the camp away and removed all traces of them having been there.

At least in the Muggle sense. Removing traces of magic is something Harry hasn't quite figured out. He can tell that the other is wary of him, especially after his odd shift in personality last night.

Harry doesn't really care.

"Step away from the tent." He says, politely, then shrinks it before placing it inside his trunk when the other complies.

"Where are we headed?" Riddle asks.

"To the nearest community east of us." "We're getting the map then?"

Harry hums in affirmative, shrinking the trunk and putting it in his pocket. Then they start walking. The journey is mostly quiet, with Riddle only following a step behind him. Harry doesn't think of much besides getting to their destination, he can't afford too. The path is mostly clear of trees at a certain point, perhaps six or seven miles away from their previous camp, and Harry notices a dirt road some distance away from them leading back to the general area they'd come from, perhaps that little settlement Grindlewald had left them at.

He decides to head away from the paths, travel as far away from them as possible whilst headed to their destination—less of a chance they run into someone that way. The way they're taking starts to arch upwards as they reach the mountain, and Harry feels a curl of unease that has nothing to do with the rapidly declining temperature.

Riddle is huffing, out of breathe where's he's lagged a couple metres behind Harry, and that more than anything tells him to slow down his brutal pace. The other won't complain, too proud to say anything. Luckily, he can hear the sound of a small stream somewhat to their left, and not particularly wanting to drink anymore spelled water heads in its direction. Riddle immediately gets on his knees and starts washing his sweaty face, cooling his no doubt overheated body. Harry contemplates doing the same, but he dismisses the thought a moment later, instead vanishing the sweat from his body and clothes by casting a simple cleaning charm.

He conjures a water bottle, dipping it into the water and filling it up, then spells the water clean with a few charms he'd picked up from Hermione before taking a much needed drink.

With thirst no longer an issue, he bends to refill the bottle, absentmindedly conjuring another one for Riddle, and then fillin—

**——————————WARNING—————————**

A well blasting curse fractures all the bones on the hand holding his wand, but he ducks and rolls underneath the spell fire that quickly follows, heart is his throat.

The pain doesn't register, the bones already melding back together because of his healing factor and with a simple gesture conjures a shield charm around Riddle when he gasps.

His eyes move quickly—three...no, five of them, and he's on the move, dodging the sickly green of the killing curse by the skin of teeth.

Then, he gets up from his crouch, feels a dagger slide into his hand, conjured more through instinct than thought, and let's it fly. There's the sound of a wet gurgle and a body dropping onto the ground but Harry doesn't take a moment to celebrate, he's already on his next target, teeth bared in a snarl.

The man shoots a bright yellow curse at him, eyes wide in surprise but Harry sidesteps it easily, barely noticing the slight burn on his arm when it glances passed him, another blade already held loosely in his hand—then there's a splatter of warm coppery liquid on his face, momentarily blinding him.

His senses SCREAM! and he grabs ahold of the man, bleeding from throat where Harry sliced him open (now that he's this close Harry can see that he's dressed in Grindlewald's colours), spins them around to catch the blasting curse that was shot at his back.

They fly, knocked off their feet, and the man lands on Harry, who only lets out a grunt of annoyance before casting a shield charm around them. Then he tosses the body to the side, a disgusted look on his face—the man's back is shredded, he's dead now.

He's up a moment later, shield charm still up and shinning a luminescent blue, but it's starts to crack when the intensity of the fire goes up, spells coming from every direction—he apparates with a loud crack before appearing in front of the closest wizard to his left, taking the chance to deliver a well placed fist into the man's solar plexus when he flatters in surprise (pathetic), then when the man looses his breath, curling over in pain, Harry knees him directly on the face, feeling a curl of satisfaction when his nose shatters under the strike—he brings up a shield again, stopping a curse only hairs breath away from probably killing him what with the way it hisses and burns even on the other side of the protective spell.

He grabs the wand of the Wizard in his hold, rights the man before shoving the wand deep into his left eye. Then he apparates, dodging another volley of curses. 'How many more?' he asks Death, appearing next to Riddle and grabbing him by the scruff of his sweater and apparating back the distance they came. 'Seventeen and more coming.' Death answers.

'Fuck.' Harry curses. He doesn't let the other boy recover from the rougher than normal side apparation, there's no time for finesse.

"Riddle, take this." Harry says, grabbing at the air and feeling the invisibility cloak curl itself around his open palm.

"W-wha—"

"Go!" Harry shouts. "It doesn't matter where. I'll find you. Just don't take that off."

"I can fight." Riddle protests. "You can also die." Harry says, out of breath. "Take this." He also gives him the wand he'd used to skewer the wizard's eye and brain.

Riddle frowns at the wand, lips curling in disgust at the eye slime and brain matter that somehow stuck on it.

Harry looks behind when the sharp cracks of multiple apparation go off just a few metres behind a bend of earth. He turns around a gives Riddle a fierce glare, and the other complies, wrapping himself around the cloak and disappearing from the naked eye. Harry can still feel him, even though he quickly starts running in the other direction.

Good, the Slytherin in him was finally starting to show.

When he turns back to face the enemy a spell rushes by his head, severing a few strands of his hair—he doesn't stick around for them to fire again, apparates a few metres to his left before sending out two successive Sectumsempra.

The first one strikes, severing a witch in half (tad bit overpowered but effective) whilst the other misses, instead cutting a thick oak tree. He spends the next minute or so apparating around and inbetween the group at incredible speeds, a thrill running through his body when he manages to get a few of them to kill each othe—

"Halt!" Someone shouts and the spellfire ceases. Harry finds stopping too because he's slightly winded and can't afford to apparate like that any longer without splinching. His shield is already up, body tensed like a spring, ready to move at the slightest provocation.

"Surrender." One of the man demands, snarling fiercely at Harry. It would be much more intimidating if his hands weren't shaking as badly as they are.

"Gentlemen, Ladies." Harry says, calm, yet feeling anything but. His hands are shaking too, not from fear but excitement. He's grinning dementedly, teeth bared "It seems we've reached a quandary. Don't worry though, I've got a solution.The majority of you are reaching your limit, which means you'll start to slip up and I'll be there to end your miserable existence. How about you surrender, because I can and will keep playing your game for as long as it takes to kill you all."

There's nine of them left now, but Harry isn't worried. All of this has barely made a dent on his reserves, and he really does feel like he can go on forever.

'Master, they are stalling.' Death says when a minute passes and nothing but loaded glances exchanged.

'More are coming then?'

'Twenty to exact.'

"Fuck it. I guess," he says, crouching and picking up a rock. "you're all going to die then."

He's never done this before, never even heard of it before, but then again Death told him that he can do anything with magic, and that it wouldn't be limited by a few pretty words in Latin.

He holds out the hand with the rock in it, palm open, and thinks of the small rock as a planet, like Gaia, with all her gravitational force.

Then, after giving them a chilling smirk, he apparates away. He appears right next to Riddle, grabbing him before he can react and apparates them all the back to the house Grindlewald left them in.

The earth is rumbling when they get there, but Harry is calm, or at least he tries to. Bloodlust. He's never felt it before. It makes him want to apparate back there and finish them all off, gut them with a conjured dagger— He wants to string them by their intestines and keep them alive whilst he tortures them and baths in their blood! He wants their BLOOD! He starts to breathe heavily, the blood rushing everywhere through his body, even to his neither region.

**————————————END SCENE————————**

Maybe he sh— "Well, that went well." He deadpans, cutting off that train of thought before it becomes dangerous.

Riddle laughs, well, more like wheezes awkwardly. His hand has somehow found its way into Harry's bloodstained digits, and he's squeezing them really hard. But Harry...he doesn't mind. He frowns down at their joined hands, curious about why he doesn't want to move away. Maybe it's because Death took away all his emotions, but no...Harry has never really liked being held like this. Oh he's tactical at it at it alright, getting human to human contact that is, he was starved of touch for the better part of his childhood after all and whenever he received it, it was never pleasant.

He just doesn't like to be touched unless he initiates it.

Even as Adomaitis, with his emotions dampened, he loathed being touched unless he initiated it. The only exception were his family, because this body knew instinctively, that they'd never hurt him. Riddle...once tried to kill him. No, Riddle has actually tried to kill him many times Harry looks back down at their hands, can feel Riddle's gaze boring into the side of his face.

When the other tries to pull away, Harry tightens his grip, lacing their fingers together.

They're holding hands because Riddle is scared. There's nothing more to it.

"Looks like hiking isn't going cut it." Harry says.

"No." Riddle agrees. "We have to come up with a better plan."

"I'm fresh out of ideas."

"You didn't even try to think, Peverell." Riddle huffs, amused. His shaking has gone down a couple notches, Harry observes. And he's... trying to be funny.

Harry hums, pulling Riddle along with him as he sits down on the wooden floor. It may have taken awhile, but Harry's starting to realise that even though this Tom Riddle looks exactly like the one from his universe, they're not the same.

It may have seemed so at the beginning, but Harry thinks that has more to do with the fact that he'd been fighting the man not so long before he was shoved into Adomaitis' body. Some distance from the front lines of war, being at Hogwarts, having a family (siblings)...and maybe loosing his emotions, it's all somehow slowly made these things clear.

This Tom Riddle may be rough around the edges, quick to anger, proud as a fucking peacock, more than a little bit insane, but he's wholesomely human. Harry frowns. He can't entertain such though, can he? 'Can I?' he thinks.

He stares down at Riddle, who's somehow fallen asleep whlist was Harry was deep in thought, using his shoulder as a pillow. The audacity. He sighs, cutting off the spell that was eating away at his magic. He'd had his fun.

...............

Riddle wakes up hours later, blinking confusedly at Harry.

"Welcome back to the world of the living." Harry says, brow raised in amusement.

He's... feeling amusement now, huh? Death did say whatever he did to Harry's emotions would wear off sooner than later. Riddle sits up from where his head was pillowed on Harry's lap.

He not really successful at keeping the embarassment off his face.

"Uh, I eh—"

"It's no big deal." Harry says, dismissively.

Riddle stands up, bones popping into place, and groaning in pleasure. It...does something to Harry.

"I've—" yawn "—actually thought of something."

"That quickly?"

"No, I've been playing around with the idea in my head. I think you're going to like it." He says this whilst shooting a smug smirk at Harry.

Harry smirks right back at him.

...............

Someone clears their throat behind Newt. He waves a dismissive hand without looking, it's awfully rude of him, but he's just discovered the most interesting thing about the Nu—

Wait.

Wait a damn minute...

There isn't supposed to be anyone in here, not even Theseus is allowed to come in here without supervision. He turns around quickly, hastily snatching the wand where he'd left it on his ear and pointing it the intruder.

"What are you—err, that was terribly rude of me. I meant, who are you?"

"Mr Scamander, forgive my intrusion." The person says, their voice oddly distorted. 'I can't make out their face or voice. In fact, the colour of their clothes is the only I can see clearly.'

"My name is of no importance, I stand before you representing the second Prince of Lithuania."

"Oh, alright." Newt says. The...whoever they are, they're awfully polite, if you ignore the breaking and entering part. And that's the only reason why Newt doesn't fire off a spell at them.

They hadn't tried anything. It may sound...perculiar that he thinks they're polite, but Newt knows his enemies have learned never to hesitate when dealing with him because he's very capable of being more sneakier than a Niffler.

And he can be quite annoying.

Yes, so if this...person was an enemy (oh they are dangerous alright, Newt charmed this room with everything in his arsenal, getting would not be easy, even for Grindlewald) they'd have already killed Newt.

Their use of the confudus charm is also impressive. Maybe if he asks nicely enough, the other would be willing to show him how they anchored it to their face and voice specifically.

The spell generally confuses a person enough to make them easily suggestible, but this individual somehow managed to isolate it to their face and voice and also their body, only it doesn't make the person on the recieveing end get confused.

"How did you get in?" He asks, slowly.

"It...would not be easy to explain it to detail, Mr Scamander. But I suppose the gist of it would be that I used Shadow magic."

"I've never heard of Shadow magic before."

The other hums.

....

...

..

.

When the silence drags on, Newt, a blush blooming all over his face, clears his throat awkwardly.

"W-was there anything I can help you with?"

"The Royal family would like to ask a favour of you."

"From me?" Newt asks, confused.

"We have been watching you Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. You are a good and honourable Wizard, my Prince will accept help from no one but you."

"What is this favour they want me to do?" He asks, a bit apprehensive.

"You're aware of the state of the world, and I'm sure you've heard what's happened at the ICW Lithuanian Branch."

"It's terrible what Grindlewald's done. I just, I can't believe other countries are listening to what he's saying."

"It' should'nt be hard to believe, the world was always headed in this direction. Most European, Asian and African Magical communities employ the use of Dark Magic, it's part of their tradition. The ICW has been tightening laws and regulations set upon those that use the dark arts, which has, understandably, angered plenty of people. The stigma against the dark arts is not completely ridiculous, because they can be extremely dangerous.

But, what most people fail to see is that the light arts can be just as dangerous. The situation as a whole is precarious, but my Princes are making plans change it. The world cannot fall into Grindlewald's grasp, but it cannot return to the way it was before. Something must change."

"You want me to be part of that change?" Newt asks.

"I have no doubt you could change the world on your own, if you really wanted to. It would take you time, but you would do it. Help my Princes make this world better, not just for dark arts practitioners or Wizards and Witches, but for Muggles and Magical Creatures as well."

Newt frowns, biting his lip. Then looks up at the other. For Magical Creatures, Newt will do just about anything to stop the injustice dome against them. And if he fixes the rest of the world along the way, then the journey will be even more incredible. "What do you need me to do?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azulous is something not really human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! Here's another chapter. I think I like this one, it has a more pensive nature to it, what with everyone thinking about all of shit.
> 
> Life's been interesting. I really can't wait for this whole covid-19 issue to finish, it's just not doing my people any favours. It's either starve or get sick these, tragic business.  
> And honestly I just wanna get out of here, and go get a master's degree somewhere already. 
> 
> Anyways...yesterday I said mothafucker (it wasn't even saying it to insult someone, I was just greeting my friend) and my mum got so mad, she says I need new friends 😂😂😂. She doesn't know that I learned that word from dad, years ago. But anyways, I hope everyone's doing okay. Thanks so much for the comments, even though I haven't gotten around to reading them.

"Ah...eh...err." is all Harry can say when Riddle returns from rummaging around the house with a single minded focus. 

"Not what you were expecting?" The other asks, a smug smirk on his face.

"Well, I was expecting more than this."

This being a pile of clothes, traditional Japanese styled, and obviously female.

"Disguises." Riddle says.

"Disguises?" Harry repeats, in question.

"Grindlewald's men are expecting two young males right? And knowing what we know, from what I observed at least, they're going to kill you and take your body because you're going to come back, and they'll kill me and I'll be... dead. So, maybe they've warned the locals, or the local authorities about two white males. They're going to be looking for us, but they won't find us if we're disguised as women."

Harry nods, because it makes perfect sense. "You're right. But, they won't be underestimating us either. A disguise won't fool them. Especially if we'll be looking like Japanese women. Do you even know how to dress up like one?"

"No, I don't. But we can find out."

"How?" Harry asks. 

"Your invisibility cloak."

"Yes..." Harry says, prompting the other to elaborate.

"All you need to do is find a local, preferably a woman, older too, and bring her here."

Harry sighs. "They'll be waiting for us if I try to go out. And my invisibility cloak may be unique, but there are some spells that allow you to see through it."

"Except they don't know that. They don't even know we have an invisibility cloak." Riddle says, looking very impressed with himself.

"They might, though. Grindlewald knows I'm Their Master of Death." Harry rolls his eyes, slightly amused. "Since I'm fresh out of ideas, I suppose your plan could work, even though it has plenty holes in it."

"You'll fill all those holes with your quick thinking. You're an incredible duelist by the way Peverell, where the fuck did you learn how to move like that?"

Harry shrugs. "Some of it is raw talent, a bit of quick thinking, but mostly it's just adaptability. You learn a thing or two when someone tries to have you murdered."

Riddle frowns. "I apologized for that, did I not."

"I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the game of thrones, as my younger brother dubbed it. Some people didn't want my family seated on the throne, others tried to weaken my brother by killing me, especially because they knew I would be a formidable enemy once he becomes King. I had to adapt to the situation, otherwise I'd be long dead by now."

"Oh." The frown becomes more severe. "You really do love to surprise me, Peverell. You're turning out to be less of the person I thought you were."

"I'm starting to think the same thing about you Riddle." Harry says, smirking. "You're still insane though, trying to murder me at Hogwarts of all places."

"Not one of my finest moments." Riddle says, smirking back at Harry. "You... intimidated me. It was a new experience for me and I handled it poorly."

"Intimidated? The great Tom Riddle, intimidated by a mudblood?" 

"Yes." Riddle says, his smirk dying. "But I realise I should've tried getting along with you rather than behaving how I did. I'm yet to learn how to pick my battles, clearly. All this time, I thought I had a chance but...you would've wiped the floor with me in battle. 

The way you duel is brutal and barbaric but efficient. You only used a shield charm and yet, even though you were outnumbered and without a wand, the battle was in your favour."

Harry stares at him, his own smirk dying. "I wouldn't have allowed you. I didn't trust you from the moment our eyes met. Trying to act anything but unpleasant towards me would've... I would've reacted badly." 

"Why?" Riddle asks. "What is it about me that made you hate me from the beginning? Why is that every time you looked at me, it was almost as if you could see through me? Wh— how...argh." he makes a frustrated noise, before huffing and looking away. 

"You reminded me of someone." Harry says, shrugging. "I was angry, and I saw what I wanted to see."

"What about me reminded you of this person you loathe so much?"

Harry opens his mouth to answer, then snaps it shut. Thinking back to their first meeting, he could claim it was the way Riddle carried himself, the look in his eyes.

Actually, it was the look in his eyes that had raised Harry's hackles. He hadn't really paid that much attention to what Riddle was busy with afterwards, all he'd thought about was ruining him, crushing that pride he could see so clearly blazing in the other's gaze.  
Looking back at everything that had been going at Hogwarts, Harry realizes that almost everyone in Slytherin—they'd had that cold look in their eyes when he met them. They'd all written him off as a muggleborn bloodline thief or something along those lines. And yet he'd taken it all out on To—Riddle and his gang to a lesser extent.

Harry sighs. 

"It wasn't anything more than that look in your eyes when we first met. Dismissal, disdain, I was used to being looked at with the latter back home, but it made me furious that someone who knew virtually nothing about me could look at me in that way. You and your friends, the whole house in fact, was too quick to judge, even though it was obvious that I was wealthy being a student from an academy none of you could ever dream of being enrolled in. 

But as time went by my ire grew, those Pureblooded gits you surround yourself with, they're wrapped around in their self-importance and over-inflated egos, sprouting nonsense about blood purity as if that's all the world is about." He scoffs. "Seeing you lead them further into that spiral of nonsense ticked me off. 

There you were, an intelligent and powerful Wizard who was aware of both the workings of the Muggle and Wizarding World, chumming up to those weak-minded fools and encouraging their outdated views. I knew someone like that, he's probably dead now.

I realise that I should've given you more credit. I can only imagine how hostile the environment was during your first year at Hogwarts, a supposed Muggleborn in Slytherin. And how traumatizing it must been, growing up in that sorry excuse of an orphanage. So I commend you for finding their weakness and exploiting it, you're a true Slytherin. Still doesn't change how incredibly hypocritical you are though, being a half-breed and all that."

Riddles eyes blaze with cold fury for a moment, but somehow he manages to temper it down, seeing the bait for what it is.

"What point are you trying to make?"

Harry appreciates that he isn't getting angry or storming off in offense, but that he's actually willing to listen. Yesterday, he hadn't thought Riddle was capable of listening to anyone but himself.

"Your Pureblood friends and yourself represent something terribly wrong with our world. The lack of change." When Riddle frowns confusedly, Harry changes tactics by asking. "Why do Purebloods hate Muggleborns?"

"Because they come into our world and change..." He trails off in realisation, making Harry chuckle.

"You're starting to get it." Harry says. "They are incredibly resistant to change, but the world isn't going to slow down for anyone. Muggle's aren't as resistant to change as Wizarding folk are, which is why these Muggleborns you hate so much are changing things."

Riddle shakes his head, brows set stubbornly. "That change, is it worth the loss of thousands of years of tradition?"

"Of course not, but that's why you need to find a balance for these things Riddle, a way to make everyone happy." Harry says.

"Besides the fact that that's easier said then done, why should I do all this?" The other grumbles.

"Your Pureblood friends are carrying multiple generations worth of hurt and anger. Entire lines were decimated by the Witch Trails, many families couldn't even recover. Of course they probably don't even know this, they're so angry they've forgotten the reason why." Harry says. "By no means am I saying they're in right, in fact, this is just another example of their resistance to change. They're going to feed that anger to their children, who will feed it to their children and so forth, just like their forefathers did with their own children. The cycle needs to end, it's none progressive. Clinging to the Olde Ways comes with all that useless anger."

"You want me to reinvent the wheel?"

"Exactly. Destroy too maybe, then rebuild it. You're a revolutionary, Riddle. That's something no one can deny or take from you, it's why so many flock to you. You could, if you wanted, be the change that Wizarding Britain needs."

'Excuse my French Master, but what the fuck are you doing?'

'Death, my friend, I didn't know you cursed.'

'When the situation calls for, I do.' the other replies, tone dry yet still disbelieving. 'Clearly spending so much time around Riddle has done no good for your severely lacking intelligence.'

'If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're insulting me' Harry thinks, terribly amused. 'Though, I'd like to ask you never to remove my emotions again. They're clearly paramount to my decision making skills.'

'If these are the kind of decisions you make when they're half gone, then I'll endeavour to never repeat the removal of emotions again, Master.' Death agrees, gravely.

'Relax then, Death. Because I know what I'm doing.'

'I don't think you do anymore Master.'

...............................

Lukas pases around his room, probably ruining the carpet, but he doesn't care. The dark rich red of the room does nothing to feed his enthusiasm, only, it makes him more and more depressed, thinking about his father. (He would've liked this room, it's in his favourite colour, the colour that his sons had inherited. The sons he'd promised to protect).

Every moment Adomaitis isn't here with them is like—  
There's a knock at the door, but he ignores it with a slight shake of his head, going back to his pacing.

"Lukas." 

The door swings open, Azulous standing beside it with a raised brow.

He stops, sighing before turning around fully.

"Yes?"

"General Gringovic is here to see you." 

'I can see that,' he thinks, looking at said man. "General, please come in."

The General finally steps into the room, his lone eye boring disapproval into Lukas' dark red gaze.  
"My King." The man briefly bows, a testament to his loyalty to the crown.

Lukas feels guilty curl into the pit of his stomach. "Is there something I can help you with, General?"

"I'd come to ask what the next plan of action is your Highness."

Lukas averts his gaze, staring out the window. "Forgive me General, I-I'm still grieving. My father—"

"Would be disappointed, your Highness." The General cuts him off. "With all due respect—"

"People usually follow up that phrase with anything but respect." Lukas cuts him off, getting annoyed.  
The General clears his throat, bowing again but nervously this time. "A King is a leader first before anything else. Your father knew and respected that, he died for his people. I understand that this is all new to you, that you are young, but the men loose moral with each day that passes and you are silent. Our people suffer in the hands of that bitch and her whelp. Do something."

Lukas stares at him silently for awhile, choking back the ice cold fury he feels building up inside of him. He can tell the other man expects to be put down there and then for his impudence.

"I understand." He spits, gritting his teeth. "I will call on you shortly."

"My King." The other says, straightening from his bow and leaving.

"I'm impressed." Azulous says, walking up to his bed. "I was quite sure you'd end him there and then."

"The last thing we need is to kill our own men."

"True." The little one agrees. "He has gall, I'll give him that."

"He's also right. Father would be disappointed."

"If you want pity, you're not getting from me. Father would be incredibly disappointed, it's not like this is your first week at being King or anything brother." Azulous drawls sarcastically, smiling. "I remember telling you last year, if I'm not mistaken, that you'd really flounder about like a baby if you didn't learn how to do things without Adomaitis. You depend on him far too much."

"You don't understand."

"Oh but I do brother, more than you know." Azulous says, brushing off some imaginary flint from his black mourning dress robes. "I am clairvoyant after all."

Lukas rolls his eyes with a huff. "So you knew this would happen?"

"Somewhat." He replies. "I knew that the three of us would be tested somehow. I suggested Adomaitis leave for awhile, just so you could get used to him not being there to get you out of the messes you loved making."

"So him colonizing Britain was your idea?"

"Colonizing?" Azulous questions, eyes crinkling. "Not quite brother. Adomaitis loves a challenge, but more than anything he loves trouble, he's never been one to sit around and wait for it to come his way, he's always went out looking for it. 

Britain was a conquest, he wanted to immerse himself in their society so seamlessly that they'd forget he was foreign. He wanted to beat everyone at the game they were born to play or had been playing for many years. More importantly, he was also trying to put space between the two of you, to allow you to grow on your own."

Lukas sighs. "Father should have made him King."

Azulous scoffs. "That would've been a bad idea, and you know it."

"He'd be better at this than I am."

"Adomaitis is a psychopath." Azulous says.

Lukas glares at him.

"Sociopath?" Azulous says, smiling. "Alright, alright. But he's insane and I'm half convinced whatever he'd be diagnosed with if he saw a mind healer would end with a -path."

"That's rude."

"But true." Azulous presses. "Adomaitis may be frighteningly intelligent and cunning, but he's also cruel and selfish and the only thing he seems to care about, besides himself, is this family. 

He values no one else's opinion but yours and I suppose mine now, and more than anything he doesn't play well with others. I'm not an expert on ruling business, but does that sound like a King to you, because it sounds like something else to me."

"But that's how I know he'll always make the right decisions."

"Brother, have you already forgotten father's teachings." Azulous says, softly. "He always used to say 'the right decisions aren't always the best decisions'."

Lukas remembers the day his father first told him those words, remembers all the days they spent together clearly as if it were yesterday.  
They'd been in the sunroom, drinking that horrible blend of tea his father was obsessed with.  
'Don't grimace so severely, it's unbecoming of a Prince' he'd tease, and Lukas would pout, beet red and grumbling into his teacup, because he secretly enjoyed it when his father teased him.

They'd sit in front of the view of the grounds, enjoying a rare and quiet morning, being a family. Adomaitis would be curled up by the corner, cradling baby Azulous in one arm and reading some advanced text using the other, a very odd six year old, the maids would say.

Hanibalo would ask him random questions, never really expecting him to answer a certain way, but always willing to herd him in the right direction. He'd said it many times, that it was inevitable that Lukas would find himself in between a rock and a hard place.  
'One day you'll have to shed whatever reservations or feeling you have about situation, you'll think you're right but you'll be wrong and son, you'll do something you'd never thought you'd do. When that moment comes, remember why you get up every morning, why you suffer through hours of boring lectures and demanding lessons. And remember son, that the right thing isn't always the best thing. The road to hell is paved on good intentions.'

Lukas had listened carefully to his solemn and often silent father with rapt attention, he'd committed those words to memory and seared them into his heart. At least, that's what he'd thought. 

'He'd be so disappointed in me.' he think, in despair. 'I've forgotten your words, father.'

"Go, lead them." Azulous says, smiling encouragingly.

Lukas spares a moment to embarrassed, because he'd needed his little brother to knock a bit of sense into him, but then he squares his shoulders, determination filling his body to the brim. 

He's go an army to direct.

....................

Azulous watches his brother leave the room, his smile slowly turning to a grimace.

His body is still healing from the poison. He often tires from standing too long, and he'd already reached his limit for the day. There was no use pushing his body at this point, it would eventually heal. All he has to do is take it easy, otherwise he'll be stuck like this longer than he's supposed to.

Staring at the blood red canopy of his brother's bed above him, Azulous let's his thoughts wonder back to his own test.

It was perhaps the second thing in his life he hadn't seen coming, before receiving his gifts that is. Being weakened by the poison had left him vulnerable to his gifts, which he kept at bay by sheer mental strength everyday. He'd drowned, overwhelmed by what he could and couldn't understand. Prophecies, visions of the present, the past and future flashing before his eyes, life, death, the end and the beginning, all there, cramming itself into his small human brain.  
But then, out of nowhere, words were spoken to him  
'Ex nihilo nihil fit.'

Those words had been branded into his soul, bringing the flow of information to a startling halt. He'd sagged in relief, metaphysically though, his body had barely moved from the deep sleep he'd slipped into.  
It had all made sense.

His father had once said they were blessed by Magic herself, the Earth and Moon, and Azulous had somewhat thought he was barmy, which in hindsight did not suit his regal barer. In that moment, he'd understood somewhat, his and brothers purposes.  
They'd been touched by Death, It's gifts literally flowed in their blood. All three of them had been born prematurely, and they'd spent sometime dead.  
It was something that happened to many infants in the Danielewicz line. Some lived, but most died. A consequence of all the inbreeding they practiced. They had stopped collecting bloodlines some generations ago, and started the despicable practice.

His father had been a product of inbreeding, and so had they, Adomaitis, Lukas and himself. Theirs was a sore topic, because of the unorthodox methods that had been used to not only conceive but carry them to term. 

That event was all the explanation their father needed to explain why he thought Magic had blessed them, they would not exist otherwise. It wasn't something they went around speaking about, all that knew about it were under the Unbreakable Vow, Azulous himself once he was old enough to be told. He avoided thinking about it because of the horror it filled him with. Hanibalo was and is the strongest man Azulous has ever met, he had seen many brave feats performed, but to him, maybe because he might be biased, no one struck even close to the figure Hanibalo was.

Life had also blessed them, because despite it all they lived. And they were alive even now, all three of them.  
They were part of a greater purpose, Azulous knew this. Anchored to life and death like every other creature on this world but at the same time, not. Azulous was more anchored to life, to 'ex nihilo nihil fit'. He was driven by the same eternal uncaused cause that brought about eternal matter. 

He was—

"Brother." 

Azulous blinks the dryness from his eyes, sitting up. The sun has set, meaning he's been staring at the canopy for hours, lost on thought. "Luke, what time is it?"

"A few minutes past nine. You missed dinner." He says, worriedly. "I had the servants bring you food."

"Thank you, brother." 

He gets off the bed, bones popping back into place, and walks up to the table that's been set by the window with his food. He's actually starving. 

"Were you sitting there lost in thought all this time?" Lukas asks, taking the seat opposite his own.

"Yes." Azulous replies, pouring himself a glass of watered down sweet wine. "I was thinking about father."

"Oh." 

They don't exactly know how to grieve, never having lost someone they loved as much as their father. Their grandfather didn't count. That spineless snollygoster!

"How did the meeting with the General go?"

"Splendidly." He says, picking up a date from the fruit bowl and biting into it. "I sent off a reconnaissance regiment back to Lithuania with instructions to gather information, carelessly but not enough to be obvious, and to prioritise retuning to base above all else."

"So you want them to get discovered but not caught?" Azulous asks with a scoff. "That'll most definitely happen. It's only been days since those cunts settled on father's throne."

"That's what I need them to do." Lukas says, smirking.

"What is the purpose of your plan brother?"

"You understand that when we get back our country, we'll be right back to where we started... trying to keep the kingdom away from the Russian Empire. It'll be a ceaseless game of tug and war."

Azulous feels his brows raise, surprised. "You want us to take out the Russian Empire instead?"

"Yes." Lukas says, with a huge grin.

Azulous laughs delightedly. "Well if anyone can do it, it would be you brother."

He doesn't think too closely at the fact that they have about 4000 men and women on their side, (too great a number being famers, potions masters and mistresses, shop owners, medi-wizards and witches—not exactly the kind that win wars), and he doesn't think about how the Russians are probably three or four times their size.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On other news, I want to rewrite perseverance. Lol, I know I did it before, but that story is my pride and joy, the first story I ever wrote and posted and everytime I read it, I'm not satisfied. I want to do it justice.  
> I've already finished the first chapter. But damnit, I wanna finish this story first before moving on, because the two are connected. And I wanna give this baby all my attention 😥. I don't know what to do.


End file.
